


In Spite of All the Danger

by Lissy (Alicia_H)



Category: 1960s Music Scene RPF, The Beatles
Genre: 1950s, April Showers Challenge, Early Work, Friendship, Hamburg, M/M, Music
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-07-24
Updated: 2007-12-08
Packaged: 2017-10-18 07:50:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 33,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/186597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alicia_H/pseuds/Lissy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>RPF of the Beatles. First written in 2007. I'm going to be updating parts of this story, mostly to add shorter George/Paul pieces I wrote at the time, and I may be continuing it at some point too.</p>
<p>Paul asks George to help him with a song. In Hamburg, two years later, the two young men begin to grow closer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue & Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> [](http://community.livejournal.com/gpinspiteof/)   
> 

  
**Prologue I  
In Spite of All the Danger**  
February 1958 - George

My family had gone out for a picnic. I'd said I hadn't been feeling well and my mam made me stay at home in bed. It was the first sunny day in ages and I resented being stuck home in bed while everyone else was enjoying the good weather. At about lunchtime I was feeling well enough to get up and fetch my lunch.

I sat in the front room and picked up my guitar. I started running through the guitar part to That'll Be the Day. I was in a band and we were going to a recording of it in a few weeks and I wanted to get my part perfect. I didn't know what we were doing for the other side. One of Paul and John's songs, probably. I wondered if I would ever write a song. Probably no point if they were always going to think theirs were more important than mine.

There was a knock on the front door. I peeked round the curtains to see Paul standing on the front step with his guitar in his hand. The knocking became louder and more insistent. I opened the door.

“What do you want?”

Paul looked me up and down, obviously surprised to see me still in my dressing gown and slippers. “That's nice,” he said. “I come and see you and ask me what for.”

“Well, what have you come to see me for?”

“I've got a song that needs finishing.”

I scowled. “Why don't you go and ask John? I thought he was your new best mate.”

“George, it's not like that and you know it.” He shot me an apologetic look. “Listen, I know I've been spending a lot of time with John but you're in the band now, too. So it will be different now on, I promise.”

I nodded, not really believing him but feeling it wouldn't be fair to leave him out there. I could do with the company, anyway, I thought. “Alright, come in. But you have to leave before me mam gets home. I'm supposed to be resting.”

I let Paul in and we went through to the living room. My lunch was still sitting uneaten on the coffee table.

“You 'aving that?” Paul asked.

“Eventually. Let's hear your stuff, then.”

“Right, well I've got the music, already.”

Paul sat down on the sofa with his guitar, an upside down right-handed one, and started playing through the song slowly. I watched the chords he was using and translated them onto my own guitar. After going through it a few times, I had it right and we played through it again together.

“I need some words. Give me something that fits.”

“I don't know, Paul. In spite of the fact I'm sitting here playing with you, I'm actually quite sick, you know. Me mam'll kill me if see finds me here like this.”

“'In spite of',” Paul said to himself curiously. He played the opening again, singing. “In spite of all the ... something. Come on George, give me anything. Any word.”

“Danger,” I said plucking a word out of the air.

“Good. Interesting,” Paul said. He started to sing again, “In spite of all the danger. In spite of all that may be.”

I joined in now, getting the idea for another couple of lines. “I'll do anything for you, anything you want me to...”

“If-”

“-you'll be true to me.” I finished.

“Let's run that verse through now. You sing.”

Paul listened to me while I sang the verse uncertainly. He had a pleased expression on his face. “That's good. See, it's not so difficult, is it?”

“No, you're right, it isn't. So what's next? 'In spite of the danger' again?”

“No, we've got to change it on the second verse and go back to it later maybe.”

“Go on, you start off, then.”

“In spite of all the heartaches, that you may cause me. You.”

“ I'll do anything for you, anything you want me to, if you'll be true to me.”

Paul launched into a repeat of the first verse but I stopped him.

“I've got a better idea for the next bit.”

“Oh?”

“I'll look after you like I've never done before,” I sang, then nodded at Paul to finish it.

“I'll keep all the others from knocking at your door.”

We laughed, remembering Paul's desperate knocking on my door not that long ago.

“Now shall we repeat the first two?” Paul asked, still laughing.

“You can. I'm going to make myself a cuppa. Do you want one?”

From the kitchen I could hear Paul running through the song. As he reached the end I thought I should suggest adding another of my 'anything for you' bits to round the song off. The kettle started to whistle shrilly.

“George, have you got any paper?”

“There's an empty notebook on the bookshelf,” I called back to him, taking the kettle off the boil and pouring out the water.

When I came back through with the tea, I watched him finishing writing our thrown together lyrics. He wrote the title at the top of the page and scribbled something underneath it. He pushed it towards me and I read out loud.

“In Spite of All the Danger by George Harrison and Paul McCartney.”

“Come on, let's run it through together before we drink our tea. I want to hear what it sounds like with you singing too.”

We picked up our guitars again. I sat down next to Paul on the sofa. We played and sang together and I realised then that the song hadn't come out too badly after all.

  
_In spite of all the danger,  
in spite of all that may be  
I'll do anything for you,  
anything you want me to,  
if you'll be true to me._

_In spite of all the heartache,  
that you may cause me,  
I'll do anything for you,  
anything you want me to,  
if you'll be true to me._

_I'll look after you  
like I've never done before.  
I'll keep all the others  
from knocking at your door._

_In spite of all the danger,  
in spite of all that may be,  
I'll do anything for you,  
anything you want me to,  
if you'll be true to me._

_In spite of all the heartache_  
that you may cause me,  
I'll do anything for you,  
anything you want me to,  
if you'll be true to me.  


Paul looked up, assuming that we'd finished but I gave him a look to tell him not to speak just yet. I carried on singing my last bit on my own:  
I'll do anything for you,  
anything you want me to,  
if you'll be true to me

  
Paul watched me and smiled, nodding approvingly. “Yes, you're right, you know. That is better.”

I smiled back at him. I loved the way his eyes were lit up with the excitement of having finished a new song. He looked very proud as he shook my hand a said in a posh voice. “Congratulations, Mr Harrison. You have just completed your very first song. How does that make you feel?”

“Very good.” It was all I could manage. I was so happy to have my best mate back after being relegated to second place in favour of John Lennon after Paul had discovered they could write good songs together.

Paul did something I never expected him to do. He hugged me tightly. “Thank you for helping me finish my – our – song. You're the best, you really are.”

“Thanks Paul.”

“I'm going to ask John if we can put it on the other side of the record to 'That'll Be The Day'.”

“Do you mean that?”

“Yeah, I think it's good enough for it, you know. I reckon John'll like it.”

“You don't think John'll be mad you wrote it with me instead of him?”

“Maybe. Still,” Paul squeezed my hand, something that made me feel slightly uncomfortable, even more so for the fact that I discovered I didn't exactly mind holding Paul's hand as much as I would've thought. “I wouldn't mind writing songs with you more often.”

“God, McCartney, you'll be asking me to babysit with you next.” I laughed at the implications.

Paul laughed too. “Babysitting you, more like.”

“I am fifteen, you know. Well, just about.”

“Go on George.”

“Are you sure that's a good idea? John can get awfully possessive, you know. If he found out we were writing songs together.” I winked cheekily, implying that we might be getting up to more than writing songs if I had my way.

Paul shrugged. “Fuck John.”

“No, don't! That'll make it even more complicated.” I laughed self-consciously at the sudden note of squeaky panic that had entered into my voice.

“Tell you what, George,” Paul said in mock seriousness. “I do it in spite of all the danger.”

“I'll do anything for you,” I added, copying Paul's tone. “Anything you want me to.”

“If you'll be true to me!” We sang together operatically.

We both fell about in hysterics. I grabbed onto Paul's hand tighter to stop myself falling backwards off the sofa. I suddenly heard my mam and sister laughing outside. For the first time I panicked about what this might look light to anyone else, me sitting here holding hands with Paul.

“Me mam's back! I'm supposed to be in bed, resting.”

Thinking quick, Paul said, “Lie down on the sofa and I'll fetch you a blanket. We can pretend I was looking after you the whole time.”

“As opposed to you sending me running around making cups of tea and demanding song lyrics off me?”

“Gerron, George. Before your mum catches us.”

I stretched out on the sofa and Paul sprinted upstairs and back down again. He tucked the blanket around me and passed me my mug of tea and my sarnie. My mam's voice came from the hall.

“Are you alright, George?”

“I'm in here mam.”

“What are you doing in the living room? Oh, hello Paul.”

Paul returned my mam's warm smile as he finished writing down the last of the lyrics to our song. “Hello, Mrs Harrison.”

“Paul's been looking after me, mam.”

“I'm sure he has,” she said cynically. She was too sharp to fall for a downright lie like that. “I just hope you haven't worn my son out too much, at least.”

“You know I would never dream of such of thing, Mrs Harrison. Little Georgie 'ere has been helping me write a song,” he said, standing behind me and ruffling my hair with his hand.

“Gerroff, Paul.”

“Careful what you say to me or I might promise your mum a rendition of our new song.”

“Don't-” I started but it was already too late. My mam had called everyone into the living room to hear the song. “-say that.”

As he passed me my guitar, Paul whispered apologetically, “Sorry, I really was only teasing. I'll do something to pay you back sometime.”

Once my family had gathered in the room, Paul announced that we were going to sing the song together. “Right. Ready, George? 1, 2, 3, 4...”

I wondered just how Paul planned to pay be back. I thought that it better be something good. Still, I enjoyed playing the song properly again. Though we were really performing for my family, it felt more like we were singing to each other. I knew Paul must be getting that vibe because he winked at me. It wasn't much of an acknowledgement but it was enough for me to wink back at him in reply. Luckily, no one else noticed.

  


  
**Prologue II  
Bloody Cold**   


It was nights like this that I started wondering what the whole point of this hitchhiking expedition was. We'd reached Paignton. It was getting dark and we were starting to grow a bit desperate. We had no money to spare for a kick off, so it looked like we were up for a rough night on the beach. Bloody cold. Fantastic. And I was hungry.

The Salvation Army girls we'd met were a small consolation. We shared that night's spaghetti bolognese with them and they'd kept us warm for a while.

“You disappointed that the girls couldn't stay?” I asked Paul once they'd gone, leaving us shivering on the beach.

He considered. “You know, not as much as I'd thought I'd be.”

He curled up under his coat with a yawn. I sat next to him, tired but not quite ready to try for sleep. Paul grabbed my arm and pulled me closer, for warmth. His head was all but in my lap. I wasn't sure If I would've minded too much.

“Paul, why are we doing this?” I asked suddenly, embarrassed into talking by the strange thought.

“Doing what?”

Paul's head was down, resting on his arm but his eyes were open. I lay next to him mirroring his position. We might as well have been cuddling we were so dangerously close. If one of us was a girl we might have. Maybe we'd doing even more. Not that I really wanted to think about that.

Until recently I hadn't really thought about the whole sex thing beyond the 'when two people who love each other' talk. But these days I kept wondering about it. I hadn't actually done anything about this curiosity, though I knew Paul and John had satisfied theirs more than once. Not with each other, obviously. That would be disgusting. Mind you ... No.

“This whole hitchhiking thing.” I said finally.

"To spend time together. Being friends."

His eyes were staring into mine intently, probably waiting for my next question. Distracted, I found myself just enjoying that. He gave me a strange look. Maybe he was imagining I was one of the girls. Or maybe not. Because if he and John had...

No, that was a thought I really didn't want to follow through. Yet, for some reason, I was unable to stop myself thinking about Paul and sex. And the thought managed to disturb and somehow thrill me at the same time. Or maybe, hopefully, that was just any thought about sex.

"You're not going to suddenly declare your undying love for me are you?" I asked, not entirely joking.

Paul looked a little flustered. "Why would I do that?"

"Just checking." I laughed and he smiled at me. "What?"

"You," Paul muttered sleepily.

He shifted even closer and I didn't mind. I more than didn't mind. In fact I was enjoying everything. The trip, having a laugh together without John, eating out of tins. All of it. Even this.

  


  
**Prologue III  
The Fugitve**  
Hamburg 1960

  


I run, my footsteps echoing around the dark alleyways. It's hard to breathe in the cold November air but still I run. Until...

I lose my footing on a patch of black ice. In brief moment before I hit the ground my breath catches and I know this is the end. I'm sprawled on the ground without remembering the fall itself, just the horrible moment before and the stillness after. My eyes water with pain but I don't dare blink in case it they think I've been crying.

I stand up slowly, steadying myself against a wall. My breath comes in short bursts as I try catching it. I double over, counting the heartbeat pounding through my head, feeling the stitch in my side.  


There's a rule to this sort of thing: never give in and _never_ stop running. Too late now.

Though the air still has its chilly bite, my lungs are on fire. Time to cut down on the ciggies. Sod it. I light one anyway.

  


I can hear them getting closer. Any second now. My name is called down the dark alley. They've caught me. I don't care. I've forsaken the challenge in the hope of living to see my eighteenth birthday.

  


I lean one shoulder against the wall, facing away from them so they don't see my flushed face. It's too uncomfortable to stay like that. I try placing my hand on the wall and resting on that. No use. Swearing under my breath I squint at it to see why it hurts so much. It's scraped and bleeding from when I used it to break my fall. I wipe it on my jeans. They're already filthy as it is.

I sigh heavily. My breath condenses in front of me. I take a drag on my ciggie. I watch as the smoke fills the air, looking like my breath but thicker, more dense. It takes longer to disappear. It clouds my view of the neon lit sign that marks my destination. I'll kill John. Shortcut my arse.

I add more smoke. It has a bluish tinge to it. I wait for it to disperse, listen to the footsteps. 3-2-1...

John claps his hand on my shoulder. Right on cue. I've learnt not to jump when he does that. I don't want to give him the satisfaction.

  


“You nearly did it this time, Georgie. It's only round the corner.”

  


“I don't know why I let you talk me into this.”

 

  
“You've got to earn your keep somehow, even if it's just by giving us a laugh. Good idea adding the trip to your routine. I've not seen that one before. And there I was thinking you were getting predictable.” 

“There's no way I'm doing that again.”

“You only say that because you know you can't do it.”

“I can! I will do it next time.”

“We'll see.”

I shake my head disbelievingly. “Every single bloody time.”

The rest catch up with us now. Paul passes me my guitar case. I take it in my good hand, throwing my half smoked fag on the floor and stamping on it.

“Alright George?” Paul asks.

“I've 'urt me 'and.”

Paul takes my hand and examines it closely. “It looks nastier than it is. It'll be right once you've washed the blood off. Mind you, we should make sure it doesn't get infected. We don't want yer mum thinking we've not been looking after you right.”

“Yeah,” John adds. “We can't have mummy thinking her precious little boy's being mistreated, can we?”

“I'm not little. I'm seventeen. And I'm taller than Stu.”

“That's little enough. Strictly speaking you're not old enough to play with us grownups.”

“Fuck off, John. I'm more mature than you, not that that's saying much.” I lower my voice.

“Anyway, don't go shouting that I'm underage. It's meant to be a secret, remember? Or do you want me to get chucked out of the country?”

John tries to say something clever but Stu interrupts. “Listen, you lot. Are we getting to the Top Ten before Tony finishes or are going to stand here talking all night?”

“I'm going,” I say. “But once we've finished, I'm going back to the room. I need an early night.”

As we move off down the street, John says, “Still, Paul's right you know. You should do something about that hand. Like I said, you've got to earn your keep and a lead guitarist's no good with a bad hand. If you can't play, you might as well be carted back toLiverpool tonight.”

“Ay, well hopefully that won't happen.”

“Well don't keep your hopes up. Bruno's gonna be mad when he finds out we've been playing at another club. Getting you in trouble for being underage would be the perfect revenge.”

I smile wryly. “Paul McCartney, harbinger of doom.”

“Just saying, like.”

“Well,  until then it looks like you're stuck with me.”

“You know we love you really, George.”

“Ta, John. I don't know if I could stand to go back now. I've grown used to playing for six hours straight and been woken up by the first showing.”

 

“You should feel privileged. You're not legally allowed to see those films back home but here you get to listen to repeat showings.”

“Good old Bruno, sticking us at the back of his movie theatre.” Paul grabs my arm and drags me along to make me walk faster. I'm not really keen on being manhandled like that but as it's Paul I let him. As we leave the alley, I watch as the red light washes over his face. I swear though he's older than me, he looks more baby faced at times. Not that it matters. Girls seem to like that about him and I sort of see why. He’s not _bad_ looking, that’s for sure.

“It's just I feel like such fugitive sometimes.”

John puts his arm around my shoulders, sandwiching me between him and Paul, so there’s no escape. The smell of beer, ciggie smoke and Paul’s newly bought leather jacket fills my nostrils. I know I shouldn't enjoy being squashed against him this much but being this close to has become a thrill nearly as strong as the one I get from going up on stage. I’ve learned just to enjoy the feeing, and try not to question it. Paul smiles at me cheekily, completely oblivious to the odd thoughts racing through my head.

“Ay, well a fugitive you may be, George.” John’s voice breaks through my confusion and I turn my head sharply, grateful for the distraction. “But at least you're _our_ fugitive.”

  


  
**Part 1**  
Hamburg, Late 1960, George

Hamburg could get very cold in the winter. We'd been warned about that. We'd been told to wrap up warm and not to catch any bugs that might stop us working. Mind you, we didn't care much at the time. In the middle of August you really didn't want to think about the cold of winter.

So we were taken a little by surprise when the weather went quickly from summer to winter, pretty much bypassing autumn. We counted up our German version of pennies to see if we had enough money to afford warmer clothes. Turns out we did, luckily enough, but that didn't help much with half the group coming down with bad colds.

We hadn't really expected to last to winter. We expected to get kicked out of the country not long after we arrived. We honestly thought it would be a real tooth and nails job just to keep our contract, but before we knew it three months had passed and we were still there. The authorities hadn't even found out about me being underage, which could only be a good thing.

I didn't realise at the time but the night I came down with my cold was the end of an era for me. Not only because I was about to be chucked out of the country and the next time I met up with my bandmates we would see the results of our long nights in Hamburg on the teenagers of Liverpool, but because the confused thoughts I'd had about Paul two years before resurfaced and brought about several surprising results.

I think It'll take me more than a few stiff drinks to forget my thoughts that night.

~

The others are out finishing the evening with a bender and probably won't be back until the pills are wearing off and they're ready to collapse. When they took me with them the other night, I ended up making a bit of a mess. I really don't feel up to it tonight. I've decided to come back and try and get some sleep.

I don't fancy the sofa much tonight. I've never really fancied it much. It's lumpy and'll probably give me a bad back before I even reach eighteen.

I wander blindly down the corridor towards the Black Holes of Calcutta, and the 25 yards begins to feel more like 25 miles. I've never liked the dark. I wish Paul or someone was here so I wouldn't feel so alone.

I stumble into Paul's tiny room, trying not to look at the garish wallpaper. I feel a bit jealous about it. It might be so small that it's a miracle the bed actually fits, but at least he gets it to himself. I have to share with John and Stu and they make me sleep on the sofa. I've never slept properly on it and I need to get a decent bit of kip tonight. Until they turn up and Paul tells me to get out of his bed.

I sit on Paul's bed, feeling a bit disorientated from all that feeling around in the dark and bumping off grimy walls. I start to cough. No wonder I feel so shit, I've come down with something. It can't be anything too terrible, just a bad cold. I try to stop coughing but it just gets worse. Time to cut down on the ciggies, probably.

I climb under the blankets with my clothes still on an curl up in a tight ball. If I don't get any sleep, at least I should get warmer after a while. Three sneezes in a row make me feel sure I've got a cold. It's the right time of year for it and exactly the wrong time to get one. I think that maybe I can sleep it off but I know I probably can't. Still, I wouldn't mind if I could stop thinking and actually sleep.

The light flickers on. I groan and pull the blanket over my head. It's stuffy under the blanket and there's no way I can pretend I'm not here for much longer.

“George?” a voice asks. It's Paul.

“Don't ask me to move,” I beg, ripping the blanket off my head and turning over so he can't see me. I start coughing again. I try to sit up so I can clear my lungs better but I just flop back onto the pillow.

“Steady on, mate,” Paul says. He leaves the room and I hear a tap running. Moments later he's sat on the bed behind me, propping up and passing me a glass of cold water.

He's rubbing my back gently. Normally I'd think that was a bit funny and tell him to stop, but it'd be too much effort to try to push him away. Besides, it seems to be helping me get my breath back and it's nice to have someone here to look after me. It's like having me mam look after me when I'm sick. Only not quite the same. I take a long drink of water and let the empty glass drop on the bed. I rest my head back on Paul's shoulder, feeling a bit embarrassed but too tired and weak to do anything about it. I'm still breathing funny and a bit dizzy but at least I've stopped coughing. 

Paul puts his arm around me, keeping me right where I am. I don't really mind. It's better than lying down, hacking my lungs up. Paul brushes my sweaty hair out of the way and feels my forehead. 

His hands feel cold and I finally complain. “Gerroff, Paul.”

“You must be really out it if it's taken you this long to tell me to stop," he jokes but quickly becomes serious. "I can't imagine how rough you must be feeling, your temperature's right up. I better go and get you something for it.” 

Paul helps me sit up against the wall and covers me with the blanket. I watch him cross the room. He promises that he'll only be a few minutes. Before I even realise that he's gone, he's shaking back awake. For a second I'm confused, thinking I'm at home and expecting to see my mam's concerned face. Instead I find Paul hovering over me looking worried. I give him a pained smile, trying to tell him I'm alright really without having to say anything.

Paul backs away and screws the lid off a brown bottle. He pours out something gloopy and shoves a couple of spoonfuls of it into my gob before I can object. It tastes foul and I pull an exaggerated face of disgust. But it clears my head a little and makes my chest feel a bit looser, so I suppose it can't be that bad. It's the spoon feeding that I'm not too sure about.

Paul sits down on the bed next to me, knees drawn up to his chest, and asks, “Better?”

“I s'pose.”

“I expect it would be asking too much to want my bed back?”

“Yeah.” I look over at him. “What you doing back so early anyway?”

Paul shrugs. “Decided I didn't really want to go back out. Besides, I was worried about yer. You said you were feeling off and so I thought I'd check on yer. At first I thought you only said it so you could sneak off with some bird but when I heard you hacking I thought you might need someone to look after you.”

“You didn't really think that. You thought I had a bird in 'ere so you thought you'd ruin me fun. You're jealous and selfish, that's what you are, Paul McCartney!”

“Jealous?” He laughs without humour. “Why should I be jealous of some bird I've never met?”

I look at him sharply and he opens his mouth. Perhaps he's going to say that came out wrong, or perhaps he's just waiting to see how I react. I'll never find out because at that moment I look at him. Now I'm on top of him, pinning him to the wall with my dead weight. I kiss him lightly, just for a second or so. Then I'm sat back down next to him as if nothing happened.  
What made me do that, I wonder. I blame my fevered brain for my sudden madness, then I blame the side effects of that foul concoction Paul gave me. Then I blame Paul himself for being too cute. Cute? That was a word I've never used to describe Paul. I know birds call him cute, they even call me cute when Paul's already picked someone else up, but why should I think of Paul that way?

“George?”

“What?” I look up at him. His fingers are on his lips, exactly where my lips had been half a minute ago.

“What was that?”

“I dunno,” I say truthfully. A part of me was trying to pass the kiss off as a joke to pay him back for saying something wrong. Another part is wondering if I should do it again. Yet another part is wondering what it would be like if it had been the other way round, if Paul had kissed me. What would I have done? Shouted at him and called him a queer, probably.

He laughed. “It's hard to stop thinking about why you did it, isn't it?”

“Yeah.” I sighed. I shift closer to him and put my hand on his, tracing his knuckles with my fingers. The skin's split and they're red and raw where he'd washed dried blood off but there's still some there. I wonder what's made him so frustrated to go around punching walls. “We both think too much for our own good. It's all what if this and what if that. And every time we think too much about something, we manage to talk ourselves out of it.”

“I propose we both agree to stop thinking,” Paul says, tipping my head up so that I'm looking into his eyes. “What do you reckon?”

I smile despite myself. “If you stop thinking about how I'll react, I stop thinking about why you're doing it and wondering why I'm not fighting. How's that sound?”

“Sounds like a plan to me.”

Paul cups the side of my face with his free hand and I lean up towards him. At first I look into his eyes but as we draw closer, I close my eyes. I can hear Paul's breathing in my ear. We're only ever really this close to each other when one of us is legless and one of us has to carry the other back. Neither of us is especially drunk right now, though. I can't smell any more beer than normal on Paul's breath. We're so close, I know that he's about to kiss me but I keep the promise and stop thinking about it. I'm about ready to lunge forward and do it myself, just to get that first moment of doubt over with.

Paul draws me towards him. My nose bumps into his and this makes us laugh a little, until our lips meet again. This is a real kiss, I suppose, because both of us want it and it's going on longer than the first. I feel like I could do this all night, or longer, except there are sounds outside the door. Footsteps, drunken singing, someone laughing, John shouting.

“Paulie! Paulie! You're not in bed already on a fine night like this are you? Gawd, even George is still out.”

Quick off the mark, Paul leaps off the bed and I scramble to get the blankets back on top of me. Paul lands awkwardly and swears loudly as his ankle rolls under him and sends him sprawling. He grabs the blanket off my bed and shoves it on me to stop me laughing.

“You're meant to be sick,” he hisses. Seeing me struggling, he sits on the bed and helps me get the blankets straight.

I turn my laughs into fake coughs. These turn into real ones, feeling worse than before even though I've only recently been dosed up with what I hope was cough medicine and not something that Paul picked off the shelf at random. At that moment John, Stu and Pete burst into the room. John's singing loudly and slurring badly. He seems to be having trouble remembering all the words and substituted his own lines, making the song more surreal with every verse.

He suddenly stops and looks at Paul's guilty face. “'Allo, 'allo, 'allo. What's going on here then? Someone looks like they've been doing something naughty. Our boy's haven't been getting up to anything untoward, have they?”

I close my eyes and try to look ill. I'm lucky my face is already red from the exertion of coughing. For some values of lucky.

“What's that supposed to mean?” Paul demands on my behalf.

“Just tell him where you've hidden the girls and he'll leave you alone,” Stu says as he sits down on the bed and takes his boots off.

Looking up at John, Paul says, “If that's the only thing on your mind, Lennon, then you'll be extremely disappointed. George's sick and I've had to look after him while you've been off 'aving fun. You've seen more girls than I have tonight and I notice none of you lot are rushing to help the invalid.”

I groan but I know I can't object even though I would if we'd been alone. I'm supposed to be sicker than I feel at this moment. Apparently I have to be dying for it to plausible for Paul to fuss over me. Maybe he is drunk after all.

So, what does John do? He sits down on the bed and leans over me, leering. “You alright, Geogie boy?'”he shouts. “You still hangin' in there or do we 'ave to call the undertakers. 'Cause, you know their more expensive during off hours.”

“Sod off, John,' I groan from the depths of Paul's fetid pit.

I realise that I've been groaning a lot to day, so I moan for good measure, you know, just to even things out, like. I cough again, trying for sympathy but lapse into an all too real and painful coughing fit. At least I get sympathy from some people, with my convulsions sending Pete and Stu running off to return with water, a wet flannel and drugs of every description. I decide not to ask where the flannel's come from, or where its been for that matter, and pull faces as I get a face full of water and flannel.

The part of sick patient isn't that hard to play as it turns out I am that ill after all, probably worse. When I start coughing again, Paul does his back rubbing thing again. At least I hope it's Paul. It's too dark to tell but If John tries that on, I'll murder him. One by one the others feel they've done their part and crawl to the other rooms and into bed, except John who announces loudly that he's going back out just as I'm drifting off to sleep, leaves without his shoes and comes back to put them on noisily.

This just leaves me with Paul, still playing nurse, talking at me in that way he does when he knows other people have switched off and don't give a toss what he's saying. Something about some girl he knows that he's in love with but won't say anything because he's Paul and that's the sort of stupid thing that Paul does.

He hasn't said anything about his ankle, so either it was nothing or it's killing him. At one point when he thinks I'm asleep, he gets of the bed and stumbles across the room. I hear him get a glass of water and open a bottle of something that rattles.

When he's done instead of sitting back down he crawls under the blanket with me. I don't do anything, I'm supposed to be asleep. He lies on his side, that's the only way two of us can fit in these beds, and he lays a protective arm over me. I don't know why I immediately assume it's protective, he might have just needed somewhere to put his arm. All the same, I pull the arm round more and he comes closer. This feels nice and by the sounds of it, Paul is already asleep. Listening to his rhythmic breathing, I finally feel myself drifting off. Whatever the morning brings, it won't matter as long as Paul's still there when I wake up.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul spends the day looking after George, who doesn't seem to be too impressed with Paul's soup making or linguistic abilities.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [   
> ](http://community.livejournal.com/gpinspiteof/)

"What's this?"

"Soup."

"Soup? What do I want soup for?"

Paul sat on his bed, trying to avoid George's feet hidden under the mass of blankets. He'd been saving the money he'd earnt from playing in Hamburg in an old jam jar under his bed and he'd taken some of it out today and gone and bought George cough medicine, painkillers, a tin of thick tomato soup and several boxes of tissues. He'd spent most of the day running around picking up stray used tissues and passing fresh ones to George. They'd sat talking for a lot of the time except when George fell asleep for a time after lunch. Paul had made them both a jam butty and George ate his greedily and gratefully. George had said how much he missed fish and chips and Paul wholeheartedly agreed with him.

He looked at the soup he'd made for their pitiful tea. One tin of tomato soup shared between two chipped mugs. It was the best he could do because he couldn't even find bowls or spoons.

"To eat, you great pudding, what do you think?"

"Soup isn't pudding. It's sa-sav-" George sneezed violently. "Savoury. I'nt it?"

Paul rolled his eyes as he passed George his soup and put his own on the bedside table. He'd charitably offered up his bed to George, thinking it wasn't really fair to expect him to move back to the lumpy sofa in the room he shared with John and Stu.

“Shift, George.” He sat down on the bed next to George with his back to the wall. George covered Paul up with the blankets and shifted so that he was leaning back against him. It wasn't exactly what he'd meant by shift, but Paul wasn't exactly complaining. He was only worried that if John or the others walked in they might get the wrong idea completely.

"Hmm." George looked at his soup critically.

"It's cream of tomato. Crème de tomate as they would say in France, I think. I was never any good at French.”

“But we're not in France. We're in Germany, you twit. I always knew you were lying when you said you were good at Geography.”

“I was never that good at German either.” Paul said sadly. “Mind you, I did learn a couple of useful things.”

Paul leant in and whispered something that made George go very red. “I see you spent your time looking up rude words in your German-English dictionary too,” he said nodding approvingly at his younger friend.

“You do realise what you just asked me to do in German, don't you?”

“I should probably reserve that one for the ladies. Don't want to be giving you any ideas, do I?”

Paul winked and ran his fingers through George's hair, messing it up even more than it already was. He liked messing up George's hair because it annoyed him and he always tried to squirm out of the way. George made no effort to get away from Paul's playful fingers this time. He moved closer letting Paul stroke his hair without complaint. He continued to look disapprovingly at his soup, his cheeks still burning red.

“It's nice, you know. Just because I've made it doesn't make it automatically 'orrible. I've tried a bit of it."

"I bet you 'ave. Why don't you 'ave it, then? Seen as you like it so much."

"I've got mine 'ere. Besides, you're not well and you 'aven't eaten since this morning."

"I don't feel very hungry, you know."

"I know. But you've got to eat something or you won't get better."

George looked up at him and smiled sadly. "I'm sorry about keeping you here like this when you could be out with the others."

"Nah, I don't mind, George. I like looking after you."

"Don't let me mam hear you sayin' that or she'll think she's been replaced."

“Nah, your mum’s great. I might be good but I’m not good enough to replace her.”

“You'll probably catch my germs if you keep hanging about with me all day, you know.”

“I've already caught them most likely.”

“Yeah, well I thought we weren't talking about that.”

“We're not while you’re in this state. Besides you only kissed me for about a second. I've been picking up your dirty, snotty tissues all day. If I was really that bothered about catchin' your germs, which do you think I'd rather do?”

“That's nowt to do with catchin' germs, Paulie, that's just your personal preference.”

“I'm saying nothing to that.”

“Wise move. I 'ope you washed your hands before you made this soup.”

“I don't see why you have to be worried about it, they're your germs. Course I washed my 'ands, what d'you think I am, a savage?”

“Possibly. Anyway, I weren't talking about that. The other room's only up the corridor. Did you think I couldn't hear you? Sound travels good in this place.”

“Just drink your soup George.”

“Okay. But no more spoon feeding, alright? I'm not that much of a baby.”

George drank his soup slowly and carefully while Paul drank his in three gulps and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“See,” George said, looking up from his soup. “A savage. And one with terrible table manners at that.”

“Finish your soup before I cripple ya.” Paul made a fist but then dropped it. He rested his chin on the top of George’s head, sighing.

“And rude, to boot.” George passed Paul his empty mug. Paul got up and went out of the room to wash them up. When he came back, George added. “I don't know why I waste my time on you.”

“Cheeky.”

“I thought you liked cheeky. Or do you want me deadly serious?” George pulled a concentrated expression that was only broken by a sneeze.

"D'you feel any better?"

"Yeah. Ta, Paul"

"See, I told you soup was good for you. Me mum always used to make me soup when I was sick. Sometimes I used to pretend I was sick, just so she'd make me her soup."

"My mam always says bed rest's the best thing."

“George?” Paul sat back down on the bed so that he sandwiched George between himself and the wall again. However, this time he resolved to stay firmly on top on the blankets, else the band might have to spend the night minus two guitarists. All the same, he put an arm around George's shoulders and brought him close to show he didn't mean anything by it. "What would your mum say to do for a sprained ankle?"

George thought. He did what Paul thought to be a very good impersonation of Mrs Harrison's voice. "Bed rest, a hot water bottle, a mug of hot chocolate, the radio on or good book and keep your weight off it if you 'ave to get up."

"Sounds nice except you're in my bed, it's bloody freezing, the radio's dodgy, I haven't got owt to read and I've got six hours of 'maching shau' ahead of me."

"God, Paul, all you do is moan, moan, moan."

"You wish, George Harrison."

"Don't tempt me."

“I wouldn't dream of it, George. Not after last night, at any rate. That was some kiss by the way. Better than some girls, I'd reckon.”

George smiled wryly back at him. “I didn't think you approved of that sort of thing. I thought you were into your girls.”

“I do. It's just you making me confused. Making me think I'm madly in love with you.” Paul fluttered his eyelashes like John often did when he was taking the mickey.

"I hope we're not forgetting who started the second kiss. I don't think you'd have come up for air if we hadn't been interupted."

Paul wasn't quite ready to tell George just how long he'd been planning that kiss but he couldn't hold back the smile. "That's the one I was talking about. You were pretty good with that one yourself."

“You like me too much, you do. I see you're not kicking up too much of a fuss about sharing a bed.”

“It is my bed remember and it’s you who started all this so don't you try and claim it was me just because I didn't stop you snogging me and then climbed into bed with you. You were the one who kissed me first It's all your fault, so just admit that you like me and 'ave done with it.”

“I think you're cute. Happy now?”

“No.”

George looked up sharply. “Why not?”

“My ankle is killing me. I've been on my feet most of the day, running around. For your benefit, I might add.”

“Let's 'ave a look.”

Paul pulled his sock off his left foot."I've put a bandage on it but it keeps coming loose."

"Let me see."

He let George grab his foot and untie the bandage on it. He flinched when George's cold fingers came into contact with his bruised, battered and swollen ankle.

"That's really nasty, that. Look, it's gone purple and it's swollen up like a tennis ball."

"Stop poking it then, George."

“I'm not poking, I'm just checking it. There's a way you can tell if they're broken or not.”

“Well either stop of hurry up, it bloody 'urts.”

Finally George seemed satisfied that his ankle was only very badly sprained.

“Help me do it up tight.”

George sighed. “I'll 'ave a bash. I'm not promising much. You're the nurse remember.”

George wrapped the bandage tight around his foot and he even put Paul's sock back on it for him, but only after sniffing it and pulling a face. He laughed at his own joke. George's laughter was infectious and Paul joined in gladly.

“There you go. Not quite as good as new but it's the best I can do. I'm not a miracle worker, you know.”

“Ta, George. I'll take some painkillers before going down.”

George yawned and rested his head on Paul again.“How long before we have to go down?”

“I'm going down in a couple of hours. You are staying 'ere and getting some sleep while I'm not keeping you awake.”

“Why don't you come under here and rest your ankle, then?”

“Is that your way of getting me into bed?”

“Pretty much, yeah.” George draped the blankets over Paul's legs.

“George, what was that kiss about?” He didn't mean to push at the subject but Paul had to know if George had been serious about that kiss or if it had been a monent of madness gone to far. The one thing he didn't want to do was get his hopes up only to have them sqaushed.

George pushed himself up on his elbow  and said, “I thought you didn't want to talk about it.”

“I don't.” Paul looked into George's dark eyes. They looked right through him, seeming to read his mind. He shivered with the anticipation.

“Good.” George sat up and kissed him gently. He did it once, twice, three times, for longer every time. Paul didn't fight it. He didn't particularly want to. He went back to fiddling George’s hair, running his fingers through it until it stood on end. He wasn't sure he'd like to think about why he enjoyed this so much.

George lay down and curled up next to Paul. “Good night then. Try not to wake me up when you go down.”

It was Paul's turn to yawn now. “At least someone's going to enjoy a night off.”

Quiet then, “Paul?”

“Don't worry, George, I won't tell anyone about you. Or you an' me.”

“Ta.”

“Just promise me something.”

“What?” George asked him, his voice almost a whisper. The were so close now, in the dark, and they could both feel the potential danger of being caught.

“Don't stop surprising me.”

They were quiet again for a time. Paul thought George might've fallen asleep.

“Paul?”

“What.”

“Will you kiss me again? Not now. When I'm not expecting it.”

Paul didn't answer.

“You don't 'ave to, you know. Not if you don't want to.”

“And if I do want to?”

Paul curled up under the blankets, facing George, and took his hand. He squeezed it tightly. Something felt right about that. He didn't understand why he kept letting George kiss him or why he wanted so badly to kiss him back but couldn't get up the nerve to do it properly. George put a hand around his waist and pulled him closer. At first Paul thought that under any other circumstance he would have assumed George had done that to stop him falling out of the small bed. Then he thought that under any other circumstances, he would be on George's lumpy sofa, trying hopelessly to get some kip. All he could tell was that George had started off something neither of them seemed willing to stop.

  
~

  
As Paul went down to the Kaiserkeller, he was stopped on his way by John. He didn't register him at first, his was still rubbing his ribs where George had to poke him to remind him he needed to go, but John put out an arm to stop him.

“Paul! You're not listening to me, are you?”

“No,” Paul said dully, feeling it was pointless to lie.

John sighed irritably. “I said we're not going to the Kaiserkeller. We're doing the Top Ten tonight.”

Paul rubbed his tired eyes. “Bruno'll murder us when he finds out, you know. We were lucky he didn't find out the first time. Or the second.”

“Look, which would you rather, eh? Being beaten into shape by Bruno for six hours or jamming with Tony for a while and then having a proper break. We could go an' get a decent meal before all the good places shut. You look like you could do with one.”

As if to press John's point home, Paul launched into a sudden violent sneezing fit.

“Gawd, not another one. How is George?”

“Sleeping.” Paul wiped his nose and rubbed his eyes again. Neither helped much, his nose still ran and his eyes were still sore. “He's driving me crazy.”

John took from that the meaning Paul had hoped he would. “Yeah, but he's sick. Sick people are meant to drive you up the wall, it's their job.”

“Wise words from John Lennon.”

“Come on. We've got a gig to do.”

A couple of hours later, during his break, Tony Sheridan and his band invited them out for a hot meal. He too was concerned about the state Paul had gotten himself into over George. The Beatles had gotten to know him well over their stay, he was a decent sort of bloke and a good musician. They enjoyed jamming with each other even if it would mean serious trouble from Bruno if he ever found out.

Paul sat quietly, pushing his food around his plate moodily. George was never far from his thoughts, not that he would admit to the others exactly why. While he'd been with George he had stopped himself thinking too much about it but now the thoughts bothered him. George was a bloke and so was he. This wasn't right. That was an easy observation.

George was younger than he was, though not that much younger. There was another one. George was just 17. He was still a kid in most people's eyes, though not in Paul's. Not any more. Despite his age and inexperience, George gave the impression of knowing exactly what he wanted. He seemed to know what Paul wanted too. Far more that Paul himself ever did. But Paul had known for a long time that George was something special.

George. He couldn't stop thinking about George. All last night, it had been George. All of today, it had been George. And now all that was in his head was George. George, George, George. Paul lifted a forkful of food towards his mouth and could almost hear the collective sigh of relief from the whole table. He lost interest halfway through and dropped everything back to his plate with a clatter.

The others were watching him carefully and he knew why. He'd caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror near the door. He looked even more pale and washed out in normal lighting than in the flashing light and cracked mirrors in the loos in the Bambi Kino.

He missed George. He'd been joking with George about catching his germs and he probably was coming with whatever he had. He was tired out from spending the day looking after George and his ankle ached even now that he'd taken his weight off it. It made him like he wanted to throw up with every dull throb.

Pete finished his food and stretched, yawning. His foot connected hard with Paul's ankle. Paul yelped with pain and surprise. He then sent a tirade of swearing Pete's way. The drummer shrank back into his chair. It wasn't completely unheard of for Paul to go off at someone but it was usually Stu he got annoyed at. John was the one who was more liable to explode unexpectedly and even he gave Pete a 'what did you do?' look.

“Paul?”John put a hand on his shoulder to try and calm him down. “What's up with you tonight. You can't really be that stressed at George, can you?”

Paul rubbed his eyes again. How many times had he done that tonight? The tears couldn't be far off now. 'I have to see him,' he thought to himself. 'If he's woken up an' he needs me and I'm 'ere eating... I've got to go back and check on him.'

Out loud he said, “I'm going back. I'm tired and I've hurt me ankle and all you lot will do is stare at me and ask me what's wrong. George could be at death's door and he'd still be more entertaining than you lot.”

“At least stay an' eat something, Paul. You look dead on your feet.”

“I'm not hungry, I've had soup.”

“God, there you go. Don't think about what you're doing to yourself. Don't think about what you're doing to us. We've still got Bruno to deal with, you know. But everything's fine and dandy for you as long as you can go home and watch George sleep.” Paul shifted uncomfortably but John carried on regardless. “Look, just promise me you'll get some sleep tonight – this morning – whatever time of day it is.”

“Alright, just as soon as I know George is okay.”

“Go, then.”

Once Paul had gone, John turned to the others. “We've got to do something about this. We can't have Paul like this tomorrow, especially if Bruno's gonna be on our backs. Somebody else's got to look after George to give Paul a break from 'im.”

  
~

  
I woke up when Paul came in. He looked very stressed and very sleepy. “You look like shit.” I told him.

“Ta,” he said, taking off his boots, leather trousers, t-shirt and jumper and dropping them in a pile by the bed. He crawled under the blankets to join me dressed in just his boxers and a clean t-shirt. “I feel like it too.”

“Hmm.” I shifted closer to Paul and put my arms around him, resting my head on his chest. Paul had already fallen asleep and eventually the sound of his slow, sighing breaths and the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest lulled me back to sleep too.


	3. Chapter 3

I hadn't been alone with Paul for a while. I was disappointed that the others had been put on 'sick duty' after a few days of him looking after me. Pete sat there and said nothing and all John did was take the piss out of me. Stu was alright, he was a laugh and we had plenty to talk about. For the first time instead of seeing what he saw in Astrid, I realised what Astrid loved about him. I wouldn't have wanted to replace her, though. I was in too deep with Paul to let myself start liking other blokes. I really missed Paul's cheeky smiles whenever he joked about me kissing him when we both knew he wanted it just as badly as I did.

I felt better though. I was still staying in Paul's room. I was willing to milk it as long as I needed to avoid going back to the sofa. Then again, Paul didn't seem too willing to chuck me out. Every night of that week he crawled into the bed, not saying much but wrapping his arm around me and letting me kiss him if I wanted. He never kissed me but I knew pushing the point would only make him less likely to. He'd promised he would do it at some point. That was enough for me.

The door went and I looked up. “And here he is. The noble hero returns from his dangerous and potentially deadly quest. Did you manage to get the stuff?”

He nodded, taking a greasy packet out of the bag he was carrying and throwing for me to catch. “Bacon.” I put the bacon on the bedside table just in time to catch a four warm bread cakes wrapped in paper. “Baps. Brown, like you asked for.” He took out an egg box. I watched him warily to see what he was going to do with it. Seeing my worry he motioned as if he was going to throw it a couple of times then simply put it next to the other stuff on the side, laughing at me. “Eggs!” He finished proudly. “George, my boy, we are having egg and bacon butties for breakfast.”

“See, it weren't that hard to find,” I said. “You've only been gone, what, two hours.”

“It can never be too late for breakfast. It's only lunchtime.”

“Where are you going to make them, anyway?”

“In the kitchen.”

“That kitchen is filthy. No food made in there could possibly be fit for human consumption.”

“You sound more like your mother than ever. Besides, I made the soup in there the other day.”

“My point exactly.”

“Listen, pass the stuff here and stop complaining.”

Later as we sat eating our late breakfast and trying not to drip grease and egg yolk down our fronts, I had to admit to Paul that they were rather good.

“Ta. Oh, by the way,” Paul said through a mouthful of egg and bacon sandwich. “I forgot to tell you I saw Astrid earlier.”

“Yeah?”

“She said she wanted to take some more pictures of us.”

“But we don't know where the others are.”

“No, she just wants us. But she wants us to come round her place and get cleaned up first.”

“What d'you mean 'get cleaned up'?” I asked with as I took another bite. “I am clean!”

Paul laughed. “George, you've got egg all over your cheek.”

“Where?”

“Let me get it.” Before I knew what he was doing, he'd licked my cheek, leaving it wet and even more eggy that before.

“What was that for?” I asked.

Paul giggled hysterically. “I wanted to see how you'd react. I've got to tell you, the look on your face was priceless. I wish I'd had a camera.”

“Talking of, how are we getting to Astrid's?”

“She's picking us up in her car.”

“Good.” I rubbed Paul's saliva off my face. “God, it's all over. You're worse than a dog, you are.”

“I hope you don't say that sort of thing to the ladies.”

“No, only to you. It's 'cause you're special, Paulie.”

Paul pulled a sad face, complete with big, watery, puppy-dog eyes. He made whining sounds and then panted, pawing at me with his free hand.

“Alright, I admit it. You might be a dog but you're a cute dog.”

Paul let out a happy, high-pitched bark.

“Just don't ask me to play fetch,” I said, laughing.

Paul finished off his bacon butty and carried on his dog impression, trying to see how long it would take before I told him to give it a rest.

I smiled. I wasn't about to give in that easy. I had plenty of ways to shut him up. “Paul, you've got egg on your lips.”

He smiled back, raising an eyebrow. “I suppose you'll be asking if you can get it off for me.”

“Maybe.”

“Go on then, if you must.”

I moved forward, still smiling. I kissed around his mouth, pretending that I kept missing. Then I went for his mouth, licking the egg off slowly, teasing him. Then I kissed his neck lightly, making him moan.

Eventually, I pulled back and smiled innocently at him. “What was that, Paul? Did you say you wanted more.”

I don't know what I expected him to do but I was caught completely off guard when he put his hand on the back of my neck and pulled me into a rough, desperate kiss. He put his tongue into my mouth but pulled it back after a fraction of a second. He didn't loose his nerve completely, though. He kept his lips locked stubbornly with mine but the old fingers were back, working their greasy way through my hair. I moaned his name, encouraging him to keep going.

We were only stopped by a nervous cough. I glanced up instantly and Paul practically jumped out of his skin. “Astrid!”

“I am sorry,” she said in her broken English. “I did not realise you were so busy.”

I sat, not looking at Astrid or Paul, begging in silence to anyone listening for this not to be the end to it. I could feel myself going red and when I did look up I saw that Paul was pale and Astrid was still standing there, lost for words. I realised the normally cool and untouchable Astrid must be just as embarrassed as we were.

“Are we going, then?” I attempted to laugh it of but it sounded forced and unnatural.

“I suppose it's now or never.” Paul said.

Astrid nodded, regaining her composure. “I will not tell if it is meant to be a secret.”

“Thanks Astrid.” Paul said as we left the room. I nodded gratefully, my voice lost again.

~

During the ride to Astrid's house, the three of us managed to relax. We made jokes about the awkward situation and how lucky it was that she was so forward thinking. After much joking on the subject we decided taking a bath at the same time to save water would not be the best way to go about things.

“I don't think I'll ever get my pictures done if I let you in there together. You'll be wanting to stay there all day.”

“Aw, well you know I like a good, long, hot bath,” I said.

“Ay and it's a rare luxury these days.” Paul added.

“Yes, I can smell you from here.” Astrid laughed. “Well you can do what you want. Just don't use all my scented candles or Stuart and I will not have any left for tonight.”

Later, as I sat in the bath and Paul stood in a borrowed dressing gown, drying his hair with a towl, I asked, “How long d'you think we should wait before we tell John that Stu likes bubble baths and scented candles?”

“I don't know. However long it takes for Astrid to tell Stu about us and it gets back to John.”

“You think Astrid would actually tell?”

Paul put the lid of the toilet down and sat on it putting his feet up on the side of the bath. “I don't know. I trust her not to say anything yet but sometimes I swear they can read each other's minds. And John can get anything out of Stu that he wants to. You know that.”

I nodded. There was a knock from the other side of the door and we both jumped at the sound voice of Stu's voice. “Aren't you two finished yet? Astrid wants to get a move on.”

“Alright, Stu. I think George is nearly done now.”

I tried to hurry up with washing the shampoo out of my hair and ended up with it in my eyes. I complained that my eyes were stinging and yelled that I'd gone blind. Paul told me to stop being such a baby and could hear him unhooking the shower nozzle from the wall. Seconds later he shot a freezing cold jet of water right in my face. I swore loudly and tried to wrestle it off him. All I succeeded in doing was soaking both Paul and the bathroom.

Taking careful aim I threw the soap at him. Paul darted out of my way, avoiding getting hit but not paying attention to where it landed on the floor. He narrowly escaped cracking his head open on the side of the bath only because I lunged forward instinctively and grabbed him by the shoulders mid fall.

“What are you -” The door opened at that moment and the shock of that and Paul's sudden weight caused my foot to slip on the bottom of the bath. The momentum sent us both down, Paul landing with an almighty splash on top of me. Stu stopped talking, took in the scene and made a hasty retreat. “I'm not asking. I don't want to know.”

  


The photo session itself was like a cleverly designed torture. Paul was stood behind me. I could hear him breathing and the whole time all I wanted to do was spin around and kiss him. I had to remind myself that I would not want a picture of that so I stayed obediently where Astrid had positioned me. When, after an eternity of clicks and flashes, she said she thought she had enough I let myself fall backwards, trusting Paul to catch me. He did. I put my hand on his arm to make absolutely sure he'd got me. Paul bent his head and kissed my neck like I had kissed his earlier. I shivered.

John arrived at that moment looking happy and wrapped up warm with Stu not far behind him. Bastard, I thought as I hugged myself, trying to ignore the cold. “Aren't you lot done yet?” he asked cheerily.

Paul helped me stand up straight, trying not to make it look like he might have enjoyed having his arms around me. I have to admit I wouldn't have done that if I'd known John was just round the corner.

John spotted me shivering. “What's the matter, George? You cold mate? Oh dear, what can I do?” He chucked me his coat which I now recognised as the one I'd bought for myself and that had gone missing while I'd been stuck in bed.

I made a grab for it but it went to far and Paul had to catch it. “Paul, give us it.”

Paul draped the coat over my shoulders, taking longer than he need to. He whispered in my ear, “Try not to catch another cold, eh Georgie?”

I could have murdered him for calling Georgie in front of the others but that would've been drawing attention to it.

Stu looked at us strangely, obviously wondering if he should comment on what he'd seen earlier. Normally it would've been an easy tease but his reluctance made me wonder if Astrid had said something to him after all. He went to Astrid, putting his arm around her waist.

“I see you've dried off a bit since earlier,” he said finally.

John, on the other hand, appeared as always not to be able to actually see anything but to notice everything. He didn't make any direct comments but said, I hoped, to Stu and Astrid, “We're going out for dinner with Ringo and that lot. Are you two love birds coming or are you staying out here in the cold?”

I nodded enthusiastically at John's invitation. Ringo was the drummer for the other main group working at the Kaiserkeller and I got on well with him. “I'm going. What do you want to do, Paul?”

“Yeah, I'll go.” Paul said, grabbing my hand and pulling me back as I tried to leave. “So long as we can sneak off before the show later for a little show of our own.”

I put my head on one side, thinking about that offer. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah, why not?”

“No reason why not, I s'pose.”

“Good. Then we're sorted?”

Before I could answer John was calling back to us. “Are you two coming or are you gonna stand around chatting all day?”

“We're coming,” I shouted as we ran to catch up with him.

“Hurry up, then. Oh and please don't sit in a corner and snog like Astrid and Stu or I'll be a right loner.”

Paul laughed. “You don't have to worry about that, we're not queer, you know.”

“That's what you say,” John said darkly. “You could've fooled me. Standing there 'olding 'ands.”

I dropped Paul's hand quickly, feeling embarrassed. I smiled evilly at John. “Besides if we did leave you on your lonesome, you could always hook up with Pete. I'm sure he must've nearly run out of girls by now.”

John kicked out at me but missed. “Are you trying to suggest I'm queer, Harrison? Because, if you are, mummy might be getting you back in a matchbox when I'm finished with you.”

I considered the threat for minute before John spoke again. “I think I prefer Ringo, anyway.”

“We'll arrange you a date.”

“Shurrup George, before I really do murder ya.”

“Bugger off John.”

John pushed me hard from behind. “You wish.”

“Thanks for the offer but I've got Paul for that sort of thing.”

“Not for long with that sort of talk, love.”

We walked off down the street laughing, Astrid and Stu already far ahead of us. I thought of all the times I'd regretted coming to Hamburg but right then there was nowhere else I'd rather be.

  



	4. Chapter 4

“Paul, get the drinks in.”

“Oh, come off it John. I've been on my feet since I got up. I need a sit down. What've you been doing all day? Sitting around on your arse, I'll bet.”

“I've actually been quite active today,” John said as he joined in someone else's dart game without asking them.

“Yeah, well I'll bet any activity you're likely to have been doing is highly unlikely to have involved standing up.”

“True. You know me too well. All the same, I'll 'ave a pint.”

With Paul having orders shouted at him from all sides, he tried to find someone sympathetic to his cause. “George. Please help me get the drinks.”

George shook his head as he sat down at a table in the corner. “I think you're forgetting how old I am.”

“At least help me carry them over,” Paul said, his attention focused on George while the pretty blonde barmaid handed him his change. “Come on, anyone. I'll love you forever if you do.”

“Cheers mate but I'm not queer,” John shouted across the room, now playing darts against himself.

“I'll help you.” Paul recognised the voice and turned around to see Ringo Starr, the drummer in Rory Storm's group. “John's nicked all me darts, anyway.”

Paul passed some of the drinks to Ringo and picked up the rest. “Cheers, Rich, you're a star.”

“Hence the name.”

After helping Paul carry the drinks over, Ringo said, “I'll just go and fetch another one for meself. I'll be back in a minute.”

Pete entered the pub and came over to join them. He waved at one of the pretty girls who were across the room, sitting with Rory Storm and his group. Paul, who had thought he'd actually been left alone with George while John was talking to Ringo at the bar, glared at Pete.

“I see you decided to turn up then.”

“Don't I always? How's your ankle?” Pete looked decidedly uncomfortable under Paul's gaze.

“No better. No thanks to you I might add.”

“Look, I said it was an accident and I said I was sorry. What more do you want?”

“To be left alone.” Paul said, as John sat down between him and George.

John took a long drink from his pint. He looked at it approvingly. “This is good. Not like the rat's piss at the Kaiserkeller.”

“Have you noticed Pete's bothered to turn up today?”

“I only missed one night because I was busy. If you hadn't had me looking after George, I would've been able to do what I wanted to do during the day.”

“So you're blaming George now, are you?”

“Please don't make this about me,” George begged Paul, who looked around at him for a second before carrying on at Pete.

“You're lucky we got another drummer in time.”

“Look, I don't feel well meself. I think I'm coming down with what George had. You were in bed with it a week, weren't you George?”

“Just about, yeah.”

“See.”

Paul sighed heavily and put his glass back on the table. It clinked loudly against George's, which was still full. “Well, are you playing tonight?”

“I don't know.”

“God, all you have to do is sit there. I've been jumping around all week with a very bad ankle.”

“So, it's alright for George to be sick, but not me. Is that it?”

George jumped in, trying to avoid a full blown argument between Paul and Pete. He hated being dragged into other people's fights like this. “That's not what he said, Pete. He was just pointing out that none of us are feeling our best. Just say if you don't feel like playing tonight so we can find a replacement.”

“Fine. Replace me if you want. I'm going over there. Looks like I'm fetching my own drink, anyway.”

Sensing that he wasn't wanted, Pete got up and went to join the Hurricanes at their table and was replaced moments later by Ringo. He was fed up of his band mates getting all the attention and decided to join the Beatles at their table after all.

“What's this?” asked John, looking up from his drink. “Musical drummers?”

“Nah,” Ringo said. “You can't have a musical drummer, it's against the laws of nature.”

The four of them laughed and took a sip from their pints, the atmosphere at the table becoming noticeably more relaxed.

“Are you lot ever coming back to the Kaiserkeller? You know Bruno'll be mad if you don't turn up tonight.”

“No, we've moved to the Top Ten permanently. We're moving our stuff from the Bambi Kino as soon as they've sorted us a room. Just don't tell Bruno yet or he'll murder us.”

“Don't worry. I wouldn't do that to you. What're you gonna do? Just not turn up when you're supposed to be playing and wait for him to figure it out?”

“That's the plan.” John took another long drink from his pint.

“I'd stay on a bit longer if I were you. Bruno's not very happy with you sneaking off during your breaks, there's no reason to get him even more mad. None of us know what he's capable of.”

Paul finished off his own pint, looking at the bottom of the glass thoughtfully. “Maybe you're right. You drinking that George?”

George slid his drink away from Paul. “Eventually.”

“Buy me another one then.”

“Only if you want to wait three months between drinks.”

“I might be good at waiting,” Paul waited for the others to stop laughing before carrying on. “But I'm not that good.”

“Well stop being lazy and get up and fetch one yourself then.” John said.

Paul shook his head. “Nah. I've done me ankle in and I don't think it'll take it.”

George reached over John and rubbed Paul's shoulder comfortingly. “Don't worry, Paul, I'll make John do it.”

John knocked George's arm out of the way and put his half drunk pint stubbornly on the table. “I've not finished my drink. I don't see why I should have to get up.”

“Listen, I'll just go and by some more drinks if you want,” Ringo offered helpfully.

“No, make John go.”

“Make Paul get up.”

Ringo shook his head. “Are they always like this?”

“They can be a bit childish sometimes. It's best just to let them sort it out themselves. They always make up eventually.”

“We can hear you talking about us, you know,” John said, looking round at them as he pretended to strangle Paul.

“Eh Ringo,” George said, ignoring the other two as Paul started hitting John's arm to make him let go. “Pete reckons he's come down with whatever I had. D'you mind filling in for him again.”

“No, I don't mind. Only thing is that it sounds like tonight'll probably be my last night off for a long time. Bruno will have us working us eight days a week when he finds out you lot've jumped ship.”

“Sorry about that, Rich.”

Paul did look genuinely sorry but Ringo shrugged. “I don't mind. I like playing with you lot. Is it good at the Top Ten?”

John nodded, still half throttling Paul. “Less rats, for a start.”

“And proper breaks,” Paul added, using John's distraction to escape his clutches. John picked up the menu and used it to hit Paul on the head with before flicking through to see what there was to eat while Paul tried to wrestle it from him.

Ringo laughed and then turned back to George. “You feeling better, mate? I popped in to see you the other day but you were a bit out of it.”

“Yeah, well I think Paul had worn me out from all his talking.”

Paul gave up his struggle and sat back in his seat, rubbing his ankle. “You talk just as much as me, George, maybe more.”

“That's only because I know if I don't talk, you'll just talk for the both of us.”

“I can do other things apart from talk, you know.”

John interrupted suddenly. “I'm sure you can, Paulie, but some of us are trying to decide what we want to eat here. We don't need you putting us off our food.”

“I meant I can cook.”

“Yes and if the idea of you cooking wasn't enough to put someone of their food, I don't know what is.”

Paul kicked out at John under the table. John seemed to take the hint and moved to sit next to Ringo.

John asked the drummer, “Are we on for tonight then?”

Ringo nodded. “Yeah. My drums or yours.”

“Yours. I'll send George round to pick them up before the show. Then I'll help you carry them back after.”

Paul thought he saw John wink at Ringo but he couldn't be sure because he was distracted by George's protests. “What if I have plans before the show? What about that, eh?”

“Plans? What plans?”

“It's none of your business.”

“Then its not important.” George opened his mouth again but John spoke over him. “You are going to help Ringo get his drums to the Top Ten without any of Bruno's lackeys noticing. Is that clear?”

“I'm meeting a girl,” George lied, glancing at Paul. How much more obvious could he be. It was all Paul could do not to put his head in his hands and cry.

John looked unconvinced. “Then I'm sure you won't mind if I ask Paul to go instead.”

Paul sighed resignedly. John knew. He had to. He wasn't that surprised. John was very sharp and they hadn't exactly been careful. The thing that annoyed Paul was that, whenever John knew something he shouldn't, he never came right out and said it. He played ridiculous little games until his prey gave in and told him to his face. You could never be sure if he really knew or if he was just bluffing. They couldn't give in either way. They had to cover up George's slip.

George bit his lip, clearly thinking the same as Paul. He glanced at Paul again, who nodded ever so slightly. “Fine, send Paul. Just don't expect him to move very fast or be able to stand for the show,”

“Why not? You're not still on that you've broken your ankle are you, Paul?”

“It's not broken, it's just sprained.” Paul winced as he rubbed his ankle. “It's been hurting for a week.”

John suddenly looked concerned. “You know, if it still hurts, maybe you should see a doctor.”

“It's fine. It's just a sprain.”

Ringo looked worried now. “He's right, you know. You might be doing more damage by standing on it the whole time.”

Paul put his head in his hands. He hated people nagging at him, especially when they were right. He was tired. He had a headache. His ankle was throbbing painfully and worse than that it was starting to itch. He tried scratching it but the bandage was in the way. It had become a nervous habit to rub it when people started at him but that never helped much either. It only drew attention to the fact that it was bothering him.

“You alright, Paul?”

“Eh?” Paul look up at George, who was sitting so close he might as well be sitting in his lap.

“You look dead miserable. It doesn't suit you.”

Paul's hair had been messed up during the fight and George brushed it off his forehead, smiling wryly. He smiled back and looked into George's eyes. Paul forgot where they were for a second and nearly kissed him. He looked away guiltily at the sound of John's snigger.

“I'm starving,” he admitted.

“They do really good fish and chips here,” Ringo said. “Bloke who runs the place used to run a pub in Liverpool before he came here and met his wife.”

“Was that before or after he married her?”

Paul leaned back on the bench, rubbing his eyes, groaning at John's attempt at a joke. He really was tired. He felt George's hand on his shoulder and looked up.

“It's alright, you know. I'll go and fetch Ringo's stuff after we've eaten. You should go and lie down for a bit in the room.”

Ringo said, “I think it'd be best if you do turn up at the Kaiserkeller tonight, even if it's to stop Bruno snooping about. If we leave my drums there I'll play with you at the Kaiserkeller during your breaks from the Top Ten. I might even see if I can get someone to stand in for me I'll come and join you up the street while you're on there.”

“Sounds like a very complicated and tiring plan. Playing two clubs with no breaks and pretending we're not. You sure Paul can take it? He looks a little delicate. And George is only just out of bed.”

“Stop trying to be our mother, John. George is fine and I'm fine too. I've just got a dodgy ankle. I can sit down while we play.”

“From the sounds of it you are the only one of us whose going to get to sit down tonight.” John looked back at the menu. “Anyway, what are we eating? chish and fips all round?”

“I don't fancy anything. I feel sick.”

“I thought you said you were hungry.”

George rubbed Paul's shoulder again. “Get some anyway. If you don't eat it, it just means more for the rest of us.”

“Alright, alright. Listen, I'll order. I'm sick of sitting down.”

“You've changed your tune, Mr 'I've been standing about all day, so why can't someone else get the drinks?'.”

“Shurrup John.”

Everyone at the table watched as Paul got up carefully. He was holding tight to the table for support. It was clear that he was going to fall over as soon as he let go.

“You sure you're alright?” John stood up quickly, his hand hovering near Paul's arm, ready to grab him if he fell.

“No, now please shut up. I need to concentrate.”

Paul put his weight on his foot and it immediately gave way beneath him. John caught him mid fall and plonked him on the chair next to Ringo. Paul laughed shakily. He picked up the glass sitting on the table, took a gulp of Ringo's pint and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“That was close. I didn't realise it was that bad until I sat down and had to get up again. I think I must have done it in even more when I slipped on the soap at Astrid's earlier. ”

George looked ashamed. “I'm sorry. It's my fault the soap was on the floor. And it was my fault that the floor was wet as well.”

Paul shook his head. “But if I hadn't started messing around with the shower head, it wouldn't have been as wet.”

Paul's hand was lying on the table. George reached across the table and squeezed it. “You still feel sick?”

Paul nodded, gritting his teeth against the pain in his ankle. He did look very pale. “I think I actually am gonna be sick, you know.”

“Come 'ed,” John said. “The loos are over there. If you've gotta be sick you might as well get it over with.”

Ringo shook his head. “Those ones are out of order. We'll have to take him upstairs.”

“Won't the landlord mind me throwing up in his bathroom?”

With a grim look, Ringo helped John heave Paul to his feet. “No, so long as you aim carefully.”

~

In the end Pete decided to play with them but told them that he wasn't going to run about like a madman between the clubs. They started the evening off at Top Ten. Paul didn't have a very fun time during the first set. John had sat him down on the piano stool, handed him his guitar and told him firmly that he wasn't allowed to stand up unless he thought he was going to be sick again.

John and George had sung all of the songs so far and Paul was starting to feel a bit put out about this. He sent sulky looks over at George and John, hoping one of them would get the message that he wanted to sing, without him having to say it.

Paul yawned. He hadn't taken any pills yet and he could feel himself starting to drop off. He looked over at Pete, who never took them anyway. Pete somehow managed to look worse than Paul felt, coughing hard between songs and going offbeat whenever he sneezed. After this happened for the umpteenth time, Pete noticed Paul watching and mouthed 'sorry' to him.

Paul shook his head. He decided to make peace with Pete by being nice to him, even if he was starting to get slightly disatisfied with the drummer. “It doesn't matter. Take the rest of the night off.”

“Thanks Paul.”

Paul looked around and saw George nudge John and nod in his direction. John nodded back and said into his microphone, “I think we'd all like to hear from someone who's feeling a little left out tonight.”

John picked up the microphone, carried it over to Paul and shortened it, winking at him. He bent down a bit to talk into it again. “What are you going to sing for us, Paulie with a poorly ankle?”

Paul smiled. “Ta John.” He turned around on the piano stool, lifting the lid and playing some of the keys to make sure it sounded just right. He then said into the mike, “I'm going to play a song that I wrote myself. It's called 'I'll Follow the Sun'.”

George smiled over at him. “Any chance to show off, eh?”

“Can you really blame me?”

“No.” George grinned and approached his microphone. “So, for Paul McCartney of Liverpool, opportunity knocks.”

Paul laughed at smiled back at George before starting to play. He loved George when he was happy, with his toothy grin and infectious laugh. I'll tell him that, as well, Paul thought to himself. I'll tell him as soon as I can get him alone. Paul sang his song, thinking about how he would tell George how he felt.

  


 _One day you'll look to see I've gone.  
For tomorrow may rain, so I'll follow the sun.  
Some day you'll know I was the one.  
But tomorrow may rain, so I'll follow the sun.  
And now the time has come  
And so my love I must go.  
And though I lose a friend,  
In the end you'll know, oooh..._

  


Not long later they were sprinting down the street to the Kaiserkeller, leaving Pete asleep in the room, to swap over from the other group. They walked down the steps, carefully in Paul's case, and up to the stage, trying hard not to look like they were even slightly out of breath. Ringo winked at them as he finished his pint and slipped back behind his drum kit.

“That was a close one. Another couple of minutes and Bruno would've been really suspicious.”

“Thanks for warning us that Bruno's being funny.” John said. He bent down to plug his lead into the amp.

“Well I didn't want you to find out the hard way. He's been on the warpath since he heard a group of people saying they were going to start going to the Top Ten instead of here. He's been keeping an eye on our lot to make sure we're not sneaking off up the road during our breaks.”

“You alright John?” George asked John who was still fiddling about with his amplifier.

“I can't fucking see where its supposed to go in.” John growled and kicked the box. “I don't see why we can't just have brought our own back down.”

“Yeah, a right sight we would've been, legging it down the street with our guitars and our amps as well.”

“Stop being smart Paul. It doesn't suit you.”

“Shurrup, John. And stop nicking George's sayings.”

Paul, who had managed to plug his guitar in without any trouble, sat down the wrong way on the piano stool and rubbed his ankle. George took pity on John and plugged his guitar lead in for him. It was hard enough to see in the dim light without being as short sighted as John and there was no reason to be mean unnecessarily.

“We need to get a move on,” Paul hissed. “Bruno's gonna come over and start telling us to mach shau if we keep messing about like this.”

“Alright mother, we're going as fast as we can. How's your foot?”

“Bad. I shouldn't be running. I'm staying sat here until we have to go.”

“You up to singing?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Good. I think I had too much to drink. I need waking up. Give us Long Tall Sally.”

“But that's to end-”

“We can still end it with it if you want. Call it a bookend or something.”

Paul rolled his eyes. John went to fetch a microphone for Paul. George whispered in his ear. “Go on, Paul, please. It'll make us all feel better. We need to pick our stuff up from the old room to take back to the new room. If you sing Long Tall Sally I might go along and help you pack your things. If we're not too tired we might have some fun tonight ourselves.”

“Alright, but only because you asked so politely.”

~

A lot later that night, Paul and George decided to leave the others discussing their contract with the Top Ten's manager to sneak back to the Bambi Kino to fetch some of their things. The manager knew about their situation with Bruno and had agreed to get the contract sorted as soon as possible so they didn't have to do this every night. He'd shown them upstairs to the room where Pete was already sleeping. Paul had bagged the single while George was bunking above John.

They had decided not to wake Pete when Ringo said he'd managed to get someone to fill in as the Hurricanes' drummer for the night. Ringo was enjoying the laughs and free drinks from his grateful friends and the half jokes that he should replace Pete permanently.

“Where're you two going then?” Ringo asked drunkenly as he noticed them trying to slip away.

“To pick our stuff up from our old room,” Paul told him.

“I can come along and help you carry it if you like.”

George shook his head and grinned toothily. “Nah, you've done too much for us tonight. Besides, I think we can manage by ourselves, don't you Paul?”

Paul nodded. He was still having trouble standing because of his ankle and held on tight to George for support. “Let's get moving,” he whispered.

They'd barely made it into Paul's room before George started kissing him. Paul kissed him back and then took his jeans off and curled up under the blankets.

“God, I'm knackered.”

George joined him, wrapping his arm around Paul. “You alright?” George asked, kissing his cheek lightly.

“Yeah. You're here, aren't you?”

“Yeah, I am. It was nice hearing you singing that tonight, Paulie. You've been working on it, haven't you?”

“Yeah I have.”

“I love it, I really do.” George started to sit up then changed his mind and laid back down. “You don't think I should do some packing before we fall asleep? You looked dead on your feet on the way here and I'm dozing off as we speak.”

“Nah, don't bother. You know how bad you are at packing. Just stay under here and get warm.”

“Okay.”

“Anyway we can always pack tomorrow. Or the day after that. We've got all the time in the world to pack.”

Paul lay on his back and George moved closer, resting his head on him, mumbling sleepily, “All the the time in the world.”

“You know I love you, right?” But it was too late, George was already fast asleep. He kissed the top of George's head. Of course he knew. And if he didn't, Paul could always tell him tomorrow. Or the day after that. Some day he'd know. Like Paul had said, they had all the time in the world.

  



	5. Chapter 5

We lay on Paul's bed at the Bambi Kino, cuddling and sharing a ciggie and a giggle. We were supposed to be getting our stuff together to move to the Top Ten but we'd spent the last few days sneaking off on the pretence of packing. We agreed it was only fair to enjoy the privacy a little longer. There'd be none of this spending the day lying in the same bed all day in just our boxers and t-shirts, not if we didn't want the others to find out. From something Paul had said to me I had the idea that John had sussed us out. If that was true that meant Astrid, Stu and John now knew. It couldn't exactly be called a secret if three other people knew about it.

 

I blew out another puff of smoke. The cigarette was nearly finished. Another minute or so and it'd be burning our fingers off. I passed the it back to Paul for a last drag. He stubbed the ciggie out on the bedside table. It was already covered in cigarette burns and unidentifiable stains, so another one wasn't really noticeable.

“You cold?”

I nodded. Paul rubbed my bare arms, trying to warm them up for me. All the hairs were standing up on my arms from the cold. Paul got bored with my arms and looked for something else to do. He tried smoothing the creases in my t-shirt, then gave up and started following them with his fingers. I had somehow managed to run out of clean t-shirts, so I'd left them with Astrid's mum to wash. I was wearing my last clean one but not for much longer it seemed. Paul slid his hands under it and slipped it over my head, silently dropping it to the floor. It was cold in the room and I shivered.

Paul lay his head on my bare chest. He looked like he was concentrating on a hard maths problem, his brow furrowed and his eyes fixed on an imaginary space beyond the wall. “Hmm.”

“What?”

“I can hear your heartbeat.”

“Can you?” I asked, only half interested. “I should probably be relieved that you've proved I'm still alive.”

“It's a bit fast. You're not nervous, are you?”

“I'm a bit cold,” I said, laughing as Paul started tracing circles on my stomach with his finger. “Give up, that tickles.”

“Didn't know you were ticklish, George.” He smiled evilly. “Maybe you shouldn't have told me that.”

I really shouldn't have told him but I only realised this when he started tickling me all over, trying to find my most ticklish spot. I knew exactly where this was from tickle fights with my brothers and there was no way I was going to let him anywhere near my feet.

“Seriously, give it up Paul!” I gasped, trying to push him off me. “I need the loo and you're not helping.”

When he seemed to think he'd tortured me enough, he sat back and let me recover while he looked for his lighter. I shifted position on the bed, sitting on my feet in case Paul decided to start tickling me again. Paul took a drag on the new ciggie before passing it to me.

“Ta.” I took a quick drag and handed it back.

“Are you hungry?” Paul asked, blowing out smoke.

“I am a bit, yeah.”

“What do you want to eat for lunch.”

“I can feed meself, you know. I don't need you to feed me every day. I'm not a baby.”

“You're still a baby to some people, George.”

“I am not a baby.” I repeated firmly. “I'm seventeen. I'll be eighteen in February.”

“You are to them. John treats you like a kid brother.”

I looked at Paul. “You don't.”

“No. Not any more.”

“'Except when you're tickling me.” I joked.

Paul laughed. He grabbed me and started tickling me under the armpit as I tried hard not to laugh and failed after two seconds. “Well, if you didn't make it so easy.”

He stopped ticking me and started kissing me instead. We kissed for a long time, Paul putting his tongue into my mouth and exploring with it. After a while we let go and lay back, facing each other, passing the ciggie back and forth in silence for a few minutes.

“Paul?” I asked cautiously.

“What George?”

“What are we doing this for?”

Paul kissed me on the lips, running the hand that wasn't holding the fag through my hair as he said, “Because it's a nice way to spend the time, I s'pose. What, would you rather be packing?”

“But why are we doing it, though? We'd never dare do this back in Liverpool.”

“I think it's just one of those things that happen.”

“Will we carry it on back home?”

Paul shrugged. He looked away from me, gazing across the room. We could hear the sound of the film ending in the other part of the cinema. As I watched him, he sighed sadly. I rolled over, facing the wall. Of course we couldn't carry this on in Liverpool. It was stupid of me to think we could. But that was me, stupid and naïve. I was allowed to be a bit naïve, though. After all, I _was_ only seventeen.

“I s'pose we'll always have Hamburg,” I said.

Paul laughed quietly to himself at a private joke that he didn't share with me. I didn't bother asking what it was.

“Do you love me?” I asked suddenly, surprising myself.

We looked back at each other for the first time in minutes. Paul said, “I've known you since I was was thirteen, You're me best mate. Course I love you.”

“That's not what I meant.”

Paul didn't answer me. He looked at me thoughtfully, rolling the new cigarette between his fingers, not bothering that the ash fell onto the blanket. It burnt a small hole where it landed. I poked my finger through the hole, making it bigger. It was my turn to sigh. He'd known what I'd meant really but he was trying to avoid it. I could tell I wasn't going to get an answer.

“What are we having for lunch, then?” I asked.

Paul looked grateful for the change of subject. “D'you fancy a jam butty?”

“Yeah. I love jam butties.” I smiled to myself. I knew he knew that already.

“I know you do. Why d'you think I always make 'em for you?”

“Because you like 'em too.”

“True, but I do it cause it makes you happy.”

“Stop being such a soppy git and go and fetch lunch.” I picked my t-shirt up from the floor and frowned. “I can't put this back on. Look at all the muck it's picked up from the floor. And it's got a spider on it.”

I threw the offending item of clothing away along with the attached wildlife. I wasn't too keen on spiders. Or rats for that matter. And there were plenty of both in the Bambi. You didn't even have to look hard, except in the dark corridor on the other side of the door. I didn't like the dark much either.

“What do you need to put it back on for anyway?”

“I need to go to the loo and I'm not wandering around in the cold in just my boxers with people out there.”

Paul laughed, probably at the thought of me trying to sneak into the ladies' loos, like we did when we washed in the morning, with only my boxers on. “Borrow mine from yesterday. It's on the chair. Here,” he threw it to me. “It's new. I've only worn it a couple of times.”

“Ta, Paul. See you in a bit.”

“See you Georgie.”

Paul put on the rest of his clothes quickly and left. I sat there for a few seconds with his t-shirt clutched in my hands before he came back to check up on me. He poked his head round the door and smiled at me slyly, raising his eyebrows unbelievably high.

“George?”

“What?” I asked, laughing at Paul's eyebrows.

“You wouldn't fancy – I mean when I get back – you wouldn't fancy a blowjob, would you?”

“What's one of those when it's at home?” I said, putting on my best confused expression, just to see if he'd fall for it.

“You've got to be kidding me. You really don't know?” Paul came through the door, staring at me like I'd grown an extra head.

“I've heard John saying Cyn's promised him one when he gets back home.”

“I always thought you looked a bit blank whenever he said that.”

“I'm not completely clueless, I've used my imagination, you know.”

Paul laughed. “I'm sure you have. Cyn or John?”

“I'm not telling you.”

Paul laughed again and ruffled up my hair. “I'll find out, you know. I'll get it out of you somehow.”

I shook my head. “My lips are sealed.” I looked up at him. I bit my lip. “Paul? Can I tell you something.”

“What?” Paul looked at me expectantly, biting his lip too. Maybe he was thinking about something he wanted me to say. Or didn't want me to say. It was hard to tell with Paul sometimes.

I told myself to get it over with. I took a deep breath. “When we first came here it was the first time I slept with a girl.”

Paul looked taken aback for a second. That obviously wasn't what he'd expected me to say. He sat down and rubbed my back, looking at me lovingly. Lovingly? I wondered what that meant really. The way Paul looked at me had more in common with my mam's way of looking at me than any of the German girls I'd met. Then I thought of the way Stu and Astrid looked at each other. Even though they had only known each other for three months it was clear they were in love. Paul was looking at me like that. He was trying to look after me. I rested my head on his shoulder, breathing in the smell of smoke on his jacket.

“You all picked up girls that night and I didn't want to be the odd one out. It just sort of happened. It wasn't really much fun the first time. I didn't really know what I was doing.”

“So we sort of pushed you into it?”

“Sort of, yeah.”

“I'm sorry.” Paul held my hand and squeezed it.

“S'not your fault.”

“Why didn't you say anything before?”

“In front of John? You must think I'm mad. He'd never have let me live it down.”

“I suppose you're right. You must trust me a lot to tell me.”

“I do.” I lifted my head from his shoulder. “Paul? I still fancy that jam butty.”

“I was hoping you were going to say you fancied something else.”

I smiled wryly at Paul. “I might, you know. It depends how quick you are with making lunch.”

“That might be a bit of a problem. We've run out of jam and bread. I'll have to go an' buy some more.”

“Well hurry up and buy them then.” I pushed him away and he stood up, looking down at me sulkily.

“Getting rid of me already?”

“I'm starved. Go, find food.” I pointed to the door, pushing him with one of my feet.

“Alright I'm going,” he said, rolling his eyes. He started to head off before coming back for a quick kiss.

“Go!”

“Okay, boss.”

When he finally seemed to be going, I couldn't resist calling him back. “Paulie!”

“What? What d'you want?”

I shrugged. “I've forgotten.”

“Well hurry up and remember, so I can go.” He didn't really mean that. He loved having a reason to stay.

“Well, having you still here is making me forget what I wanted to say. I might just have to keep forgetting so you'll stay here with me forever.”

Paul smiled sadly. He walked over and kissed my forehead. “I have to go. I'll be back soon, I promise.”

“Then I promise I'll still be here when you get back.”

“See you later then.” He opened the door slowly, waiting for me to say something to stop him again.

“Paul?”

“What?”

“Please don't be long.”

He laughed, the door half open, his hand on the handle. He winked. “Here's looking at you, kid.”

And then finally he was gone, leaving me alone in the room. I curled up under the blankets. I decided to wait a while before I went to the toilet. If I waited until I could hear the next film starting, I was less likely to run into someone who might be offended at me being only half dressed. I also decided that I better use the gents just in case. I yawned. The confession and the extended goodbye had worn me out a bit. I should've been getting some packing done but what I really wanted was a short nap before Paul got back.

There was a knock at the door. I lifted my head from the pillow, feeling slightly confused. It took me a moment to remember where I was. My first thought was that surely Paul couldn't be back already. Maybe he had another excuse not to leave. I wasn't exactly sure how much time had passed. I wondered why he needed to knock. Maybe he'd ended up buying more than just bread and jam. What rubbish had he brought back? I sighed. We were supposed to be moving all our rubbish out, not bringing more in.

Then I thought it might be one of the others who'd come to pick up the rest of their stuff and they'd come to check up on us. That was it. Probably John sticking his nose in where it wasn't wanted. But he wasn't the sort to knock if he was sneaking about trying to get someone into trouble. He was more likely to burst into a room to catch us with guilty looks on our faces. Maybe he was making it obvious he was there so he could listen to us scramble about, trying to cover up. Or maybe he was having a rare moment of kindness and giving us the chance not to have him walk in on us. Then why was he being so quiet? John wasn't usually this quiet. It couldn't be him.

A sweat broke out on the back of my neck. What if it was Bruno? What if he'd come to check that we were still living here after hearing from one of his goons that we'd moved to the Top Ten. I tried to calm down. If it was Bruno, what could he really do without any solid proof that we'd broken our contract? Why should he guess that I'm in the middle of moving out if I answer the door in my boxers and t-shirt? I could always pretend I had no idea that the others had been playing at the other club while I'd been sick. I'd wait until he went and then get as much of mine and Paul's stuff together as I could, leave a note for Paul and leg it all the way to the Top Ten.

I pushed the blankets back, picked up Paul's t-shirt from the end of the bed and pulled it over my head. It was a fairly new one that he'd bought at the beginning of our stay in Hamburg and it'd had been clean when he put it on yesterday. It'd do.

The knocking became more insistent. It definitely wasn't Paul. I'd heard his knocking many times since I'd known him. Back home he usually came round my house at least once or twice a week to show me the latest song he and John had wrote. I wondered how many times a week he'd been knocking on my door when we got back to Liverpool. If we ever got back to Liverpool.

“I'm coming, I'm coming.”

I swung my legs out of bed. I'd still been sitting on my foot and I only realised it'd gone dead when I tried standing up on it. I landed with a great crash on the floor, swearing as my foot started tingling with pins and needles. I limped my way to the door. I felt sorry for Paul who'd been walking like that since he'd sprained his ankle. It didn't seem to be getting any better but it sort of served him right for refusing to see a doctor.

I reached the door and steadied myself against it. I was sure it would be Bruno outside. I suddenly felt nervous that my plan to throw him off the scent might not work out smoothly. I tried to push the doubts out of my mind. I told myself to think of anything else. I pushed my mind to something that had been bothering me in the back of my mind since I'd thought up my plan. I wondered if I had time to go to the toilet before I ran away from Bruno or if I should wait until I got back to the Top Ten. It could mean the crucial minutes between getting back safely or being murdered by Bruno. I shook my head. I couldn't get away from thinking what Bruno might do to me.

“George Harrison? We know you are in there.”

I took a deep breath, deciding to get it over and done with. The sooner I opened the door the sooner I could grab mine and Paul's stuff and start sprinting towards the relative safety of the Top Ten. I wasn't that desperate, not if it meant escaping Bruno's clutches.

I opened the door. I stood frozen in the open doorway with my hand on the door handle for support. The words 'oh' and 'bollocks' drifted across my brain slowly as I processed what I was seeing. The uniform was clearly recognisable, even in the dark corridor. Some of them always came down into the club at ten o'clock to check everyone's ID. Luckily, because I was in the band and they always assumed I must be overage, they'd never checked mine, not that I had any what with being there illegally and all. Not this time, though. It looked like I'd been caught. I thought that maybe I should run for it but then realised that would probably be a really stupid decision.

  



	6. Chapter 6

The cell they put me in was cold but at least they had given me a blanket. They had given me a mug of tea too, when I'd asked for something to drink. And biscuits. I liked the biscuits. They were nothing on my mam's scones or Paulie's jam butties but there was something comforting in the way half of them ended up in a sugary brown sludge at the bottom of my mug when I tried to dip them in.

I supposed it could have been worse. I'd expected to to find myself naked on the floor of a damp stone cell, having the shit kicked out of me until I confessed all my sins of the last three months. Instead, I had tea and biscuits and a scratchy blanket.

I felt guilty about leaving Paul in the lurch and somehow knew my hastily scribbled note would not be enough. I wasn't sure how long I'd been in here but I knew at this rate I'd miss the first set and that was at the very least.

I shifted uncomortably. I was dying to use the loo. I looked around desparately for something to distract me. There was a bucket in the corner. I had't dared ask what it was for, even when they came to check up on me and give me another cup of tea, in case it was what I feared it was. I hoped they'd let me go before I had no choice other than find out. I knew the second cup of tea wouldn't help much with that. I still drank it, though. I've never liked passing up a good cup of tea.

The door opened. I looked up. It was one of the policemen who'd arrested me earlier. He took my half drunk tea out of my hands and put it on the bench near my feet. He crouched down next to me and spoke slowly and softly, clearly trying to reassure me. It might have worked if it hadn't been for the German accent. He handed me a piece of paper.

“You are being deported. This is your deportation order. It says you have 24 hours to leave the country. Your parents have been contacted and your mother will be there when you arrive home. It would be best for you if you go home and rest. You have a long journey ahead of you. Your friend is waiting outside to take you back to where you are staying and she says that she will take you to the station at nine o'clock in the morning.”

“Nine?” Even I could hear the panicked squeak in my voice. It seemed impossibly early. Some days we didn't get till bed until six.

“Yes, nine. Now go home and rest before you catch your train.”

I untangled myself from the blanket, managing to kick the tea over in the process. The mug shattered on the floor with a loud crash. I stared dumbly at the tea and bits of mug on the floor, not entirely sure how they'd got there. My mind had suddenly gone dead and I felt a bit sick.

The German policeman led me through the draughty corridors to the main office. I wondered who was waiting for me. I hadn't said in my note that I had been arrested, just that I was going out. I sighed out of relief when I saw the back of Astrid's head as one of the policemen explained to her what their plans were for me.

They explained to me which train I needed to catch and where I needed to change and which ferry I needed to catch after that. Then it was up to me to find a train back to Liverpool.. To be honest, it all went right over my head. I'd never even been out of Liverpool on my own before, never mind something like this. How was I going to survive a journey like that? Luckily, Astrid seemed understand, writing it all down. It was all my tired, confused brain could do to fight sleep as she guided me gently by the arm out of the door and into the front seat of her car.

  
~

  
We went through the back way into the Top Ten and I stood in the wings, watching as Paul screamed his way through the start of Long Tall Sally. Despite feeling incredibly guilty about missing the first set I couldn't help think that Paul looked very sexy up on stage with all his leather gear, rocking away with his guitar. On an impulse I sneaked past him, picked up my guitar which must have been waiting for me the whole time and started playing just in time for the solo. Paul turned around, surprised to hear a second lead playing. I winked at him. He smiled when he saw it was me but I could see he was very relieved as well. I realised must have been worrying about me all the time I was gone. The twinge of guilt hit again.

There was thunderous applause as we finished the song and I liked to think that my arrival had something to do with it. I looked up from my guitar to see John marching towards me with a determined expression on his face. This was it. Not only was I being kicked out of the country, I was also being chucked out of the band. All's well that ends well, and I could tell this wasn't going to end well.

“This had better be good.”

John was mad. I could tell that much. His eyes were locked on mine. I would not cry. I had told myself that over and over in the car. But under the silently blazing temper of John Lennon I could feel my resolve crumble like the biscuits in my tea. I couldn't cry. Not now. Not in front of John, of all people. My eyes were wet and my vision was blurring. I was a blink away from becoming like that soggy brown mush at the bottom of my mug. My bottom lip quivered.

I was saved by a hand on my shoulder and Paul's voice asking John to give us a minute. I didn't turn around. John still watched and the tears still threatened. I knew that if I looked at Paul, I'd never be able to hold the them off. John nodded and stalked off, leaving us to it. Paul pulled me into the wings.

“Where've you been? John's been asking me. Seemed to think I would know.”

“Is he really as angry as he looks?”

“He was at first, and then he was worried. He asked me if you were ill again. He was just doing that so he didn’t have to admit he was worried but we were all out of our minds with worry when we couldn't figure out where you were.”

“Well I'm back now and I'm none the worse for wear.” I kissed Paul then hugged him, resting my head on his shoulder, not caring who saw. “Mind you, I’m none the better either.”

He didn't push me away but I could tell he was anxious that someone might notice us. Paul tightened his grip, though, as if he thought I might run away if he let go of me. He whispered, “There you go, talking in riddles. Come on, let's go upstairs.”

I let Paul guide me upstairs to our new room. It looked more inhabited than it had earlier in the week. It looked like they had spent a long exhausting afternoon sneaking the rest of their things from the Bambi Kino. I noticed Paul's things still weren't here and neither were mine.

Paul sat down on the single bed and patted the space next to him. I sat down not looking at him. Paul rubbed my left arm up and down. Any second now he was going to ask me what had happened but I had a feeling he already suspected the answer.

Before he could say anything, I threw myself on him. I hid my face in his shoulder, screwing my it up. I still didn't want to cry. Paul stroked my hair. He said my name softly. He said all sorts of rubbish that was supposed to make me feel better. I didn't really listen to what he said, I just heard his voice trying to comfort me.

I looked up eventually. The tears were still building up in my eyes by I stubbornly refused to let them fall. Quite childish really. Even more childish than the tears I was so afraid of showing.

“George. What happened? Tell me.”

My throat felt tight and dry. I could feel the sob rising up. I couldn't get the words out now if I'd wanted. I looked at Paul. He was looking at me, concerned. We made eye contact. I'd always loved Paul's eyes but now they had dark shadows from too many long nights and far too much worrying. I couldn't hold myself together any longer. I flung myself back on Paul's shoulder and cried hard into it.

Over my sobs I heard the door click open. I felt Paul tense and shake his head, and then the door closed quietly. Paul rubbed my back and I started to get control of my crying. I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand, feeling like the baby I apparently was.

“What's the matter, George?”

I shook my head. “I want a glass of water.” I said.

Paul left the room and came back with a glass of cold water. He passed it to me silently and only after I'd finished did he ask, “Well? What's up?”

“I have to leave.”

“Why? You've only just got here.”

“The country. They're 'aving me deported.”

“What happened?”

“They arrested me. I've spent half the day locked up at the police station. I've been given until this time tomorrow to leave.”

“They can't deport you. Why are they deporting you?” Paul ran his hands through his hair. He looked ready to pull it out. I wondered if he was mad about the band losing its big break at the top ten or if he was worrying about me. Feeling selfish, I secretly hoped it was me.

“They've found out I'm only seventeen.”

Paul took his hands away from his hair and let them drop to his sides. He looked at me blankly. “Oh. I forget sometimes.”

“Everyone forgets about me, eventually.”

“That's not true. What about all your fans at the club?”

“They'll forget me. You'll forget about me. When I've been gone a couple of weeks you'll just remember me as that kid who got kicked out of the country because he's too young to play with grownups.”

Paul shook his head. “Nah, I won't forget you, George. You've made it a bit bloody difficult, 'aven't you?”

“I s'pose I have.” I lay down on Paul's bed. He'd somehow managed to get three pillows when the rest of us only had one. I stretched out on my back. Feeling uncomfortable, I rolled onto my side. I still needed to go to the toilet badly but I couldn't find the energy to get up. I took my jeans off in an attempt to get more comfortable and let them drop over the side of the bed. It didn't matter, the floor was clean here.

Paul lay down on his side, facing me. He put his arm over me and pulled me close. He kissed me once then rested his forehead against mine. I could feel his warm breath on my face. Paul closed his eyes, falling into a light sleep. I wasn't sure how long we lay there together but eventually I couldn't take it any more. I sat up suddenly, jerking Paul out of his doze. He looked up at me confused.

“Sorry, Paul. Much as I love you and everything, I haven't been to the loo for ages and I'm bursting.”

Paul murmured something and then put his arm over his face and went back to sleep. I watched him for a while. I realised he looked really cute when he slept. I smiled at that. In the time since we had started this mad thing, I'd grown used to thinking of Paul as being cute. The word suited him.

I shook my head. I had the rest of the night to think about Paul. I had more urgent matters to take care of. I tried to open the door into our little bathroom but found it locked. Shit. I pushed harder but there was still nothing.

“Shit!” I said it out loud. Someone was running the shower. It was only half nine. What was the point of having a shower when we had two more sets to do. I kicked the door, adding a bruised toe to my growing list of problems. “Bastard!”

“Uh?” I'd woken Paul with my outburst. He said sleepily, “S'prob'ly jus' John bein' an arse.”

I hammered hard on the door. I could hear John singing loudly on the other side. This was getting ridiculous.

Paul was getting annoyed now. “Just use the ones downstairs.” He thumped on the wall. “And stop making so much noise, John. Some of us are trying to get some kip.”

I wondered if there was any use pointing out to Paul that all I had on was my boxers and one of his t-shirts.

The shower stopped running. John poked his head around the door. “I don't know what you're telling me to stop making noise for. It's 'im making the racket.”

I tried to push my way past him. “John let me in. Please.” I begged him desparately.

“What if I haven't finished having me shower?”

“Please John. I'm bursting. I've been needing to use the loo for hours.”

“Maybe I'd be more sympathetic if you actually turned up to play on time.”

I was really panicking now. “I've been locked up since lunchtime. They're having me deported. Just let me through!”

John looked completely confused. He stepped aside and watched me slam the bathroom door with a stunned expression on his face. When I’d finished I could hear John and Paul's voices on the other side of the wall. I had a feeling they were talking about what to do with me. I didn't want to walk in on a conversation about my fate in the band so I had a quick shower myself. When I came back out wrapped in a towel, John was dressed and he and Paul were talking in hushed tones.

“Who's died?” I joked, coming into the room and picking up the towel John had used for his hair to dry mine. They looked at me and I stopped grinning. I'd felt better for all of twenty minutes but now I remembered I was getting deported.

Tonight might be the last time I see these people for a long time, I thought, I have no idea when I'm going to see any of them again. When I'm going to see Paul.

I held on to my towel tightly to stop it coming loose. The last thing I needed was for John to get an eyeful. Paul, on the other hand, was a different matter. I wanted to show him I was serious about this but at this rate there wouldn't be time before I had to leave.

I bit my lip hard. I was sort of glad John was there, apparently ready to show his support but I sort of wished he wasn't. I wanted to be alone with Paul. I wanted to know what we were going to do about us. I wanted one last night of us being like this before I left. Before everything changed again. I sent a look Paul's way and he got the hint.

“John, hop it for a bit, would ya? I've got something I need to talk to George about.”

John looked from Paul to me and back again. He nodded and left the room muttering something like, “Doesn't surprise me. Always knew they were a bit queer.” I thought I could hear a hint of laughter in his voice.

“I take it John knows, then?”

“Sounds like it.” Paul laughed as I tried to reach over for my clothes and nearly dropped my towel. “I don't think you'll be needing those.”

“You don't think?” I raised my eyebrows. “I might get a bit cold on stage without them.”

Paul laughed and pushed me on to the the bed. He kissed me as he took my towel away. I was lying naked on the bed the bed next to Paul. I felt slightly embarrassed but told myself firmly I didn't need to be. Paul started to take his t-shirt off and I helped him with it. He let me take his boxer shorts off and before we knew it we were both lying there with nothing on. Only then did my mind kick into gear to tell me this wasn't something either of us normally did. I started to feel slightly uncomfortable.

“This doesn't feel strange to you?” I asked Paul inbetween kisses.

“I does a bit, yeah.” Paul admitted just before he started to kiss my neck. “But I did promise promise you a blow job earlier. The offer still stands, if you want.”

The suggestion of it both excited and frightened me. “D'you even know how to give one?”

“I'm sure I'll figure it out. You'll have to give me some hints on what you like though.”

“I'll try.”

I could feel Paul's hand feeling tentatively for mine. He suddenly had a deer caught in headlights look on his face. “You nervous, George?”

“Only as much as you.”

“That's alright then.”

Paul let go of my hand. I suddenly felt him holding my dick which I realised had grown stiff. I saw Paul had somehow managed to put his worries to one side. So why couldn't I? Why was I still lying there, half thinking I was doing something very wrong? He kissed my mouth then worked his way down my body. As Paul did this I could feel my my misgivings disappearing slightly. I wanted this, I really did.

“Wait,” Paul said, suddenly freezing and looking up at the door. “What was that?”

I listened carefully. I could hear Pete shouting up the stairs that it was time to go on stage.

“Bloody Pete,” I said with a shaky laugh. I wondered if the interruption was good or bad. Right at that moment I thought it was bad. Just as I'd got over my nerves, Pete had to go and screw it up.

“Show time.” Paul smiled sadly at me but I looked away. I could feel the embarrassment creeping back. I knew I was blushing.

Paul stroked my hair gently. It was still damp but I could feel it starting to dry on my forehead. I probably looked really strange with my hair like that. I hugged my knees to my chest. I still felt too ashamed to look directly at Paul. He kissed my cheek and put his arm around my shoulder. I looked over and saw he was bright red too.

“I'm sorry, George. I'm really sorry.”

“It doesn't matter,” I lied.

We got up and started to get dressed. I looked around frantically for my stuff to do my hair but I remembered it was back at the Bambi Kino. I combed it down over my forehead instead.

“That looks like Stu's new haircut.”

“Stu's got a new haircut?” I asked, fiddling with my hair self consciously. I hadn't seen Stu since I'd come back as he usually disappeared with Astrid during the last song of the set.

“Oh, of course, you haven't seen yet. John's been laughing at him all afternoon.”

I suddenly had visions of John teasing me for having stupid hair and for appearing to copy Stu. Paul laughed at my horrified expression and dragged me into the bathroom to show me what my hair looked like. Seeing it, I couldn't help but laugh too.

Paul was stood behind me. Once we'd had our giggle at my hair, he took me in his arms and kissed my neck until I moaned for him to stop.

“I want to tell you something.”

“What is it, Georgie?”

I took a deep breath. My mind was full of things to say and I suddenly found it very hard to pick one. I looked at Paul's face in the mirror. He was leaning over my shoulder. Before, Paul had been a few inches taller than me. Now we were about an inch off being the same height. I wondered how much more I would grow in the time we were going to be apart. I really didn't want to think about that. I resented having to leave Paul just as I was falling in love with him.

I turned my head slightly so I could see his real face. His eyes stared into mine curiously. I remembered thinking earlier that I loved his eyes. Now I realised it wasn't really the eyes that I loved, it was Paul. I had to tell him.

“I know this will sound mad but I think I'm falling in love with you.”

Paul looked at me with his mouth slightly open. He didn’t seem to be able to think of anything to say. After a while, he finally found his voice. “George, I -”

He was interrupted by an angry knock on the bathroom door. “What the fuck are you two doing in there?”

Paul looked round with a start. “Nothing, Pete. I'm just telling George his hair doesn't look as bad as he thinks it does. He's a bit embarrassed.”

Paul led me out into the room. Pete stood there and looked at me for a second before laughing. It was one of the rare times I'd heard Pete laugh.

“George, you look like a right -”

Paul cut him off with a glare. “Watch it, Pete. George is leaving tomorrow, so don’t be horrible to him.”

“He's what?”

I shook my head. “Don't ask.”

Pete looked put out at not being told what was going on. “Well, are you two coming or what?”

“Yeah, we'll follow you in a second.”

“Honest,” I added, dissolving into a sudden fit of giggles which Paul joined in.

Pete shook his head and left the room. Paul started to follow but I pulled him back. I could tell he'd been shocked when I told him I loved him and I wanted to put things right. I didn't want to push him away if he didn't want this to be serious. If he came back to Liverpool and told me he thought it was getting too heavy for him, it might just break my heart.

“Listen, Paul. I didn't -” I couldn't finish talking because Paul kissed me hard on the lips.

He deepened the kiss slowly and I kissed him back, moaning his name, half-heartedly trying to remind him that we had to go downstairs. He'd either forgotten his promise to follow Pete in a second or he just didn't care. I had a feeling which one it was. I wished I could find it so easy to forget about the others but there was always the nagging worry in the back of my mind that we could be interrupted at any moment. I really didn't want Pete to walk in on us snogging. Then suddenly I stopped caring. I wanted every moment I could have with Paul before I left.

“Hold that thought, Luv,” he whispered when we finally broke apart. “We've got a show to do.”

Paul took my hand and led me downstairs. I was in a sort of trance, still trying to take in the fact that Paul had just called me Luv. It was strange that just a small word could leave me feeling as happy as it did. That was a feeling not even John's teasing about my hair could take away, though that left me resolved to get it back to normal as soon as I could.

The set went well, teasing aside, and when it came round to one of Paul's piano songs I sat down on an amp near him. Paul smiled at me as he sang and the deleriously happy feeling grew stronger. All's well that ends well, I thought, and even if this doesn't end exactly how I thought it would, it might still end well.

If I'm lucky.


	7. Chapter 7

After yet another rendition of Roll Over Beethoven, I all but collapsed onto the piano stool next to Paul. Wiping sweat out of my eyes, I pulled my guitar, which had seemed to become increasingly heavy with each set we’d done, off from round my neck. I was exhausted. After my run in with the police I was tired anyway but now after God knows how many sets with John 'letting' me play most of the songs I was completely knackered. Paul smiled at me as he shuffled up to make room without complaint. I smiled back sleepily and pretended to fall asleep on his shoulder.

"Come on, George. It's the last set. You can't fall asleep on us now." Paul laughed, pushing me away half-heartedly.

I let my head fall onto his shoulder again and murmured, "I'm tired."

From the other side of the stage, so much bigger than the Kaiserkeller’s that John deemed it necessary to shout rather than talk, there came the yell of, "Take another prellie and stand up and play, you lazy get. You can have your cuddle with Paul later."

I could feel myself starting to go red, something I hated at the best of times never mind in front of the ever sensitive John Lennon, not to mention the club full of people all watching me. I could see what was going to happen. Once I got embarrassed about one thing, I found it very hard not to be embarrassed about every little thing that people said to me after that. I wanted to say something smart back to John but before I had the chance to think of anything Paul had jumped in for me.

"Shut up, John. You play something. You've barely played anything and George has done almost everything. You're the lazy one."

I cringed, knowing that I was going to get it even worse from John if he thought I’d let Paul talk for me. As I suspected he would, John picked up on this instantly but instead of using it on me, he started on Paul.

"Can't your little boyfriend stick up for himself, Paulie?" John taunted into his microphone.

"What did you just say, Lennon?" Paul tried to stand up but I pulled him back down. I didn't want the two of them fighting before I left, especially over that.

"Don't," I hissed. "You'll end up hurting your foot again. It's not worth it. He's just teasing.”

“But-”

“Just ignore him, belt up and play something.”

Paul looked like he might argue for a second but then nodded somewhat reluctantly. He looked round at John and shouted to him, "We're going to play A Taste of Honey."

I reached to pick up my guitar but Paul whispered. "Let me play lead. We can test if I've learnt it."

I nodded. I'd spent half the evening teaching Paul and John the lead guitar parts to our most popular songs. At least I'd attempted to. “Go on then, show us your stuff.”

Paul had to lean over to me to reach the microphone and emphasised this by shifting up so close we were nearly sitting in each other's laps. As he sang it Paul kept glancing at me and smiling or sending cheeky looks at a group of familiar faces sitting at our side of the stage with their "I love George" signs. I noticed quite a few of them were muttering to each other, especially as I leaned closer to sing my parts on our shared microphone. For some reason, possibly because I was almost cheek to cheek with Paul, I didn't really care what they thought.

“...Yours was the kiss that awoke my heart,    
There lingers still, 'though we're far apart,    
That taste of honey... tasting much sweeter than wine. 

I will return, yes I will return,   
I'll come back (he'll come back) for the honey (for the honey) and you.”

Paul whispered a request to me and, as I sang it, I sent what I hoped were suggestive glances in Paul's direction but in reality I knew I probably looked like a bit of an idiot and became very embarrassed and self-conscious, which turned me into an even bigger idiot for blushing while clearly singing my song to Paul. Luckily, once my song was over, Paul launched into Long Tall Sally, shaking the rafters with his screams and all but deafening me at the same time. Then our show was over and the other band took to the stage to play the night out.

John dragged us over to a table where Astrid and Klaus had already been joined by Stu, bass barely off his neck before it was replaced by Astrid’s arm. Someone handed me a drink and I drank it gratefully, not realising how thirsty I'd been. It wasn't long before I was on my second one. Jurgen Vollmer came over and joined us smiling at me as he sat down, placing his own "I love George" sign face down on the table.

"I have been talking to all your fans tonight, George. They are all sorry to hear that das liebschen kind is leaving."

As Jurgen said it, I blushed like the first time that I'd heard that they called me that. I knew it meant "the darling child" and it was still highly embarrassing even after three months of ribbing about it. It was bad enough being the baby of the band without having ‘darling’ stuck in front of it as well, no matter what language it was in.

"Look at that, our darling little Georgie’s still shy about it. See, he's blushing. Aww, ain't he sweet."

I had the sudden, though completely understandable, urge to punch John’s grimacing face in. "Shut it, Lennon, or-"

"Or, what? You send Paul after me? I'll have to warn you now, George, that dear little Paulie isn't as hard as you think he is. I can take him out with one finger. Watch."

John leaned across the table with one finger extended and pushed Paul so hard that he overbalanced. Panicking, he grabbed desperately at my jacket to keep from falling over. The fact that we both ended up sprawled on the floor showed that his confidence in my centre of gravity had been entirely misplaced. After what was probably several seconds too long spent on the floor, I used the table to help pull myself off of Paul. Once I was stood up, I helped him to his feet.

“Enjoyed that, did you?” I asked before John could, knowing he’d be put out at the missed opportunity for teasing.

“Not really. You elbowed me really hard. I think I’m going to get a bruise there.” Paul rubbed his side with a pained expression as we sat back down. “And you sat on me bad ankle when you landed on me. It really hurts.”

He pouted, obviously expecting sympathy. He looked very cute and ever so slightly pathetic, so I decided to give him what he wanted. I rubbed his shoulder sympathetically, talking in a low voice so the others wouldn’t hear.

“Poor Paulie. I’m sorry if I hurt you, luv.” I leaned in closer to whisper in his ear, “Do you want me to kiss it better?”

“You better, Georgie, or you won’t get-”

“More drinks!” Mercifully, John had interrupted before Paul got to the end of that sentence, suddenly standing up and shouting so loudly that half the club must have turned to look at us.

The blush from earlier was returning to my cheeks. When I saw Paul was going red too, I laughed along with the others but I winked at him all the same. I pulled my chair in closer to the table, brushing my hand across Paul’s knee and enjoyed watching him attempt not to react. This plan was spoiled when I caught his eye and we grinned at each other. After our eyes met I wondered how long we could sit there staring, dreamily or drunkenly, I couldn’t really tell, before we gave the game away. Not long it seemed, as soon after Jurgen and Klaus went to help John with the drinks and Stu and Astrid disappeared off to ‘dance’. When I glanced around for them, they weren’t on the dance floor, which meant they were probably up in the room. I didn’t really think this was fair of them as I was dying to get Paul upstairs.

“How long do you think they’ll be?” I asked, glancing at Paul’s lips and wondering if I dared kiss him in the middle of the club. Someone had requested a slow number and a lot of people were getting up to dance and definitely weren’t paying attention to us. I stood up and dragged him to a sofa in a shadowy alcove where the trio at the bar wouldn’t be able to see us.

“Depends who you’re talking about. It looks like John’s got an audience, so he might be even longer getting back to the table than them upstairs.”

“Good, good,” I said, only distantly aware that I was talking. My eyes were fixed on Paul and I lunged forward to kiss him a split second later.

I must have been made braver by the beer and I had a feeling that he had too. He didn’t tell me that we shouldn’t be doing this in front of other people, as he might have done before. And he didn’t hold back either. Instead, he met my desperate kisses with his own. We stayed there in a blur of lips, tongues, hands and growing hard ons that might have lasted five minutes or half an hour. Growing steadily braver, I moved my lips to Paul’s neck, my fingers fumbling blindly for the zip on his trousers. I slid my hand in, feeling it beneath my trembling fingers as I moved my hand instinctively up and down.

Paul let out a low moan and I carried on what I was doing, deciding to make it up as I went along. Then he whispered so quietly that I thought I might have imagined it, “George … love you.”

I glanced up, meeting Paul’s eyes, my own widening in surprise. I kept moving my hand but my focus had moved towards Paul’s beautiful brown eyes as I tried to work out if he had really said it.

“Did you say-”

At that moment someone called our names across the club. “George! Paul! Where the funkin’ ‘ell are you?”

With a last glance at Paul and a shared resigned smile, I got up and went back over to the table, with Paul joining once he’d sorted his zip out. All the others, even Astrid and Stu, were back at the table. I noticed they looked at us curiously as we sat down and I tried to avoid looking at Paul. Somehow we lasted for two more drinks. After those were finished, I slipped off to the loo expecting Paul to follow. He did, sneaking up on me as I washed my hands and spinning me around for a kiss. He shoved me against the sink, kissing me madly, sliding his hand down my back until it rested on my arse. I could feel myself going red but I carried on kissing him. At that moment, someone walked through the door, sparing us only a curious glance as he walked past us.

Still pinned to the sink by Paul, I watched the new arrival in silence until he finished and turned around and I saw it was definitely him. John Lennon let out a loud, high pitched cackle as soon as he turned round. Unable to help myself and still bright red, I burst into a sudden fit of laughter to match John's, which Paul joined in with a nervous, slightly squeaky, half giggle.

"Your faces!" John gasped. "Absolutely priceless."

"You don't exactly seem surprised to find us, umm..." I couldn’t even finish my sentence, I was that embarrassed by it.

"What am I supposed to be surprised by, you two snogging in the loos or Paul feeling you up? You two have been acting strangely for weeks, I knew there had to be a reason. I am surprised you're not upstairs by now, though. I didn't think you'd be stupid enough to get caught."

"So you did know we were in here!" Paul was trying hard to sound indignant but I could tell he was starting to find the situation funny now too.

“’Course I did, Paul. I really would move it upstairs if I were you. George's fans will be jealous and they're not all complete girls like you, Macca. I don't want the only decent guitarist we'll have left turning up to tomorrow's show with all his fingers broken and not remembering who he is, regardless of how much of much of a fairy that guitarist might be.”

"I take it this means you're alright with this, then?”

“As alright as I can be while still keeping my reputation in tact.”

Paul laughed. "I think your reputation is safe with us as long as you keep this a secret."

“A secret from who? You two know, I know, Stu knows, Astrid knows, Ringo's probably guessed...” John counted off on his fingers as he said each name but trailed off, obviously trying to remember who he'd forgotten.

“What about Pete?” I asked.

“I honestly don't know about Pete. He's either as thick as we thought, blind or very good at keeping quiet.”

Paul looked thoughtful for a second. “Better not say anything to him, just in case.”

John imitated Paul, putting on a serious face on and nodding slowly. “You’re probably right. Mind you, you probably wouldn’t get the chance. He’s never around these days.”

Though I laughed at this, I felt a bit guilty about making fun of Pete behind his back. I had been the one who’d suggested him when we needed a drummer and I was probably the one in the group who knew him best. Deep down I knew I should really be making more of an effort with Pete, rather than standing about in the loos having a laugh at his expense when he wasn’t around to stick up for himself. If this was how we treated him, was it really a surprise that he’d rather be off on his own or with his stripper girlfriend? Deep down I knew that, but closer to the surface I was feeling resentful towards Pete for interrupting me and Paul earlier. That might not really have been his fault but taking the mickey out of him certainly made me feel better anyway.

John held the bathroom door open for us and we left hurriedly and headed towards the stairs before anything else could happen. And so the two of us made our way up to the room on John's sincere promise that he wouldn't let anyone walk in on us doing “whatever the fuck it is you fairies get up to”. The wink he'd sent our way as he'd sat back down with Stu and the others told even me that he probably knew a bit more about all that than he liked to pretend.


	8. Chapter 8

As soon as the door slammed shut, Paul shoved me against it and started kissing me roughly. He tired to pull my jacket off while still pinning me to the door. Failing this, he kissed me even harder, his hands wandering to unspeakable places, something I’m sure I would have enjoyed a lot more without the doorknob stuck in my back. I didn't complain much, though. Instead I gave back as good as I got.

When Paul paused to breathe, I dodged around him into the centre of the small room. I dropped my leather jacket to the floor. Then I tried to pull my t-shirt over my head quickly but it got caught. Paul laughed and helped me get it off. Up until that moment, the atmosphere in the room had been dead serious and tense but Paul's laughter made me relax a little. Paul stood behind me breathing deeply. He traced a finger down my back. His hands were cold and made me gasp. I giggled as he hit a ticklish spot.

"What?" Paul asked, laughing again himself.

"You're tickling me. And your hands are freezing."

I turned around to look at him. Paul held my hand, sliding his fingers between mine as he said, “Maybe you should warm them for me."

“How cheesy can you get, McCartney?” I tilted my head, smiling at Paul teasingly. “I've heard you use that on more than a dozen birds.”

"It works, you know." Paul pouted. “Usually.”

"On the birds, maybe." I leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the lips. "It'll never work fer me, though. You'll 'avta think of something better."

Paul took up the challenge. He cupped my face and kissed me. I shivered, only partly from the cold. Paul was such a good kisser that he could reduce me to jelly in seconds. I had a feeling that we weren't going to get interrupted this time and I was suddenly excited about what was going to happen. I took his t-shirt off and dropped it onto the growing pile of clothes.

I brushed my hands over Paul's hairy arms and then his chest, feeling his skin under my fingers. He was very cold. I could feel goose pimples starting to rise along his arms. I put my arms around his waist and drew him close to see if I could warm him up. We were pressed together and I closed my eyes as our lips met again. We kissed slowly this time, wanting it to last. There was suddenly a noise outside and Paul span round to face the door. After a few seconds of clattering, we heard the yowl of the cat that had fallen off the dustbins.

"Do you think we're safe?" Paul asked. Maybe his common sense had caught up with him. All I knew was that mine was still panting after me, trying to catch my attention.

I shrugged. "It was just a cat."

I started running my hands over him again. I was behind him now and I kissed his neck and shoulder. He'd definitely had a wash since earlier, which I was grateful for. I surprised myself by being the one to take control of the situation. If something like this had happened to me before, I would definitely have taken the first chance to bolt. But Paul had somehow turned me on long ago and it definitely wasn't with his cheesy pickups. I had been sleepy before but now I was as awake as if I'd just swallowed a whole handle of prellies in one go.

"I would have thought you'd be the nervous one but I'm practically shitting meself," Paul said, leaning into me, letting me kiss him but not kissing me back. "What if we get caught?"

"D'you think we will?" I wrapped my arms around him and leaned over his shoulder, feeling him relax but then tense up slightly as he turned his head to look at me.

I kissed his cheek lightly and moved to sit on the bed. Paul sat down next to me. He brought his hand up to the side of my face and leaned in for another kiss. I wondered if tonight was going to be our last chance to be alone like this, so I focused my mind on the feeling of Paul's lips against mine, soft enough to be a girl's lips, his tongue...

He put a hand on my leg, sliding it up my thigh slowly. I could feel myself getting a hard on just at the thought of his hand there. It had been there earlier but we'd been interrupted before anything could happen. We were completely alone now. No one was going to interrupt us. Then again, there might be nothing to interrupt.

Paul stopped kissing me to ask, a little breathlessly, "Are we going to do this, George? Do you still want me to?"

"Well, it'd be a bit unfair to get me like this and then leave me to sort it out by meself."

"Do you want me to help you get these off, George?"

"You can try but the buttons a bit fiddly."

"If I can manage the medieval contraptions the girls wear back home, I think I can manage your trousers alright." He said with a laugh.

Paul stood me up and started to undo my belt, kissing me the whole time. The next thing I knew I hit the bed with a muffled 'oomph!' as Paul's weight knocked the wind out of me. He shifted quickly, resting his weight on his knees but still pinning me underneath him, hands resting on my arms. Paul continued to kiss me, gradually deepening the kiss and only pausing when he felt my hard on against his leg.

"It doesn't take much, does it darling?" Paul asked with a smile.

“Darling?” I asked, laughing a little but secretly feeling pleased. “You’re not going to start calling me that now? It’s bad enough the Germans doing it and John taking the mickey out of me for it but if you start…”

“I can call you darling if I want to. Don’t forget I’m the one whose offering you something that you’d be far to shy to ask a girl to do for you. You would be. Admit it.”

“Alright, you’re right. I would be too shy to ask a girl. Liverpool girls would be too hard to convince anyway.”

“True. Have you ever been so glad I’m not a girl?”

“I reckon you could pass for a girl if you wanted. You're very pretty.”

“But I’m not a girl, remember that when I’m down there sucking on it.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way, little darling.” I added the name because I knew it would wind him up. I decided to call him that if he tried calling me darling again. It was only fair, really.

“I don’t see why you have to call me ‘little darling’. I’m older than you and taller than you.”

“I certainly wasn’t referring to your age.” I smiled, feeling a bit evil but not really caring as long as it made Paul squirm. “Personally I think it’s a perfect nickname for what I was thinking of.”

Realisation crossed Paul's face. He blushed as he said, “You can be a cruel bastard sometimes, you know.”

"Ta." He pouted and I shoved his shoulder playfully. “I probably learned to be that cruel from your best friend.”

“Possibly.” Paul said thoughtfully. “Anyway, I’m not John’s best friend. Stu is. Do you want me to tell you who my best friend is?”

“Who?”

“You, ya daft sod.”

I frowned, feeling a little disappointed. “You know something? I was actually hoping that you thought I was something more than your best friend.”

“You are, George, but I thought you’d get embarrassed if I used that word.”

“What word?”

“Lovers. See, you’re blushing. I knew you would.”

“You’re blushing too, Paul.”

“It’s silly, don’t you think? We do all this and we get embarrassed at one little word.”

“It’s not that silly.” I kissed him before continuing. “Besides, we haven’t really done anything yet.”

“Do you want to change that?”

“I’d like to, otherwise I might start thinking you’re trying to stall.”

“I’m not stalling, really I’m not. I just keep getting nervous about it, that’s all. Do you understand?”

“I understand exactly. What do you think it’s like to sleep with a girl for the first time and have a bunch of idiots applaud when you’ve finished?”

“At least they didn’t do it while you were doing it.”

“That’s true, I s’pose. I should be glad of that. It would've been a bit distracting. Paul?”

“Yes, Georgie.?”

“Are we actually going to stop talking and go through with this or are we just going to sit here kissing and insulting each other?”

Paul laughed, kissing me again. “Yeah.”

“Yeah? Which one are ya saying ‘yeah’ to?

“I’ll try to go through with it. I just need to get my nerve up to do it.”

“You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to. I’ll understand. I’m sure we can find another way to amuse ourselves. It’s just a bit disappointing, because you did promise, you know and there’s been all this big build up.”

I realised that I was practically begging for it now but somehow I didn’t really care. I was leaving in the morning and I needed this. I knew we’d probably have to forget about our bit of fun in Hamburg once we were back in Liverpool and I really didn’t want to stop short of actually going through with it and doing something before we finished with each other. Paul laughed, putting his hand on the side of my face and drawing me in for yet another kiss. The difference was this time his other hand had found its way between my legs.

“Why is it you always get really talkative when you want something? George, if you want me to do this for you then I will. But only if you do something for me afterwards.”

"I think we'll have to see about that." I smiled enigmatically. "Depends how good you are at this, doesn't it?"

I piled the pillows up and sat back against them, trying to get comfortable. Paul had moved down the bed. He swallowed, licking his lips and looking at me anxiously yet again, trying to get his nerves together. I understood. This was scary for me too and I wasn't the one who, to put it bluntly, had to have another bloke's dick in his mouth for this to work. When I met Paul on the bus, I'd never have imagined we'd be in a situation like this.

I closed my eyes, waiting. I expected someone to walk in and for him to jump away and deny that we were up to anything queer, in spite of the fact we were alone in the room with no clothes on and, if I'm honest, slightly drunk. Or he might say he couldn't go through with it and we'd laugh about it and be embarrassed and go off to our own beds and sleep. Or try to, at any rate. I doubted, even with how tired I’d felt earlier that I’d be able to get to sleep after the let down I was expecting.

I was still waiting for something to happen. I felt Paul move and I wondered if he was getting up but when I opened my eyes I saw he had his head down. What I hadn't expected was the feel of his mouth or the low moan that escaped me as it dawned on me that Paul was actually going to go through with it. And it seemed he was going to do it quite well. My hand found it's way to Paul's head, weaving my fingers through his hair as I moaned louder. I hadn't expected to enjoy it this much, either. I'd thought I'd be too embarrassed or, frankly, that Paul would be rubbish. As it turned out he was very good, not that I had anything to compare it too. That's Paul for you, I thought, always full of surprises.

I wanted to shout his name but somehow I managed not to. It wouldn't really have mattered with the music blasting away downstairs. I wondered vaguely if we sounded that bad, all thump-thump-thump and mach shau, but then my thoughts went back to Paul and what he was doing. He kept  
getting better. I knew it wouldn't be long before...

I felt it coming and by the time I knew it, it was too late. It had been over so fast it was almost disappointing. Almost, but not entirely. Paul got the beer, drank some and passed it to me.

“What are you going to do then?”

I leaned towards Paul and whispered in graphic detail exactly what I wanted to do to him, adding, “But I don't think we've got time for that.”

“Pity.” Paul winked, adding, “Maybe we can try and fit it in next time.”

I raised an eyebrow and asked wryly, “What's this about a next time?”


	9. Chapter 9

It was George's turn to do something for Paul now, which he pointed out with surprising eagerness. It seemed the drink had done far more than loosen him up to the idea. On the bed George took hold of Paul and he quickly grew hard.

"Do you know what to do?" Paul asked him.

Breathing fast, George said, "I reckon I do. More or less."

"If not you'll figure it out. Just try and do what I did."

"Right up to the point where you involved your mouth in the equation, you mean? Cause you were good and everything but I'm not sure I..." George looked away, embarrassed again.

Paul nodded, remembering a time a couple of years ago when he'd flat out refused to do exactly that for someone. Several times, actually, after he'd been asked with varying degrees of niceness. He rubbed George's arm in what he hoped was a reassuring way. "It's all right if you're not comfortable with that yet."

"Thanks, Paul." he said, sounding relieved. "It's just, you know, nerves and the like."

"Like I said, it really is all right. No matter what you do or how good you are. Just as long as it's you doing it, I don't care." Paul smiled at him, stroking his hair fondly. Then he winked, adding in a whisper, "Besides, I think there's plenty of other things you can do with your mouth, George."

Despite clearly being keen, and now encouraged by Paul, George was still a little nervous and unsure where to start. Paul understood. He'd been nervous about tonight too and he'd done this sort of thing more than once before.

And with the way George was kissing him might have been enough to send him over the edge without the hand working away effectively, if a little inexpertly, downstairs. George kept pausing awkwardly from time to time, still uncertain. He was hard again now. That hadn't taken long. Instinctively Paul reached for his dick, moving in his hand in time to some imaginary beat that George wasted no time in picking up.

Paul's mind drifted. He tried to remember what it was John had told him as they'd sat in his bedroom, while they were stuck in with nothing better to do and he had been trying to convince Paul to do this for the first time. 'It's just like music, really. Get the rhythm right and you're half way there. Then all you need is the passion.'

And he'd been right. He'd been right all along. If only Paul had been this convinced back then. Then maybe he might have enjoyed those rainy days with John a bit more than he had done.

Paul's thoughts came back to the present. He focused George: How close he was, the smell of the soap he'd used earlier failing to cover up clinging scent of sweat and leather, the taste of ciggies and beer, surprisingly sweet, and the rising excitement as the end approached for both of them. It wasn't fair, really. Paul didn't want this to be over so quickly. This was fantastic. And it was only getting better...

If only they had time to do more, to do what George had whispered. Maybe they did have time. But no doubt somebody would walk in and they'd never get a chance to do anything like this again. Unless they carried on back home. Yes, he decided, to hell with being cautious! Neither of them wanted it to be over after such a short time. This was only the start, why did they have to stop now? Surely they were smart enough to hide it from their families. So why not risk it? After all, it might just work.

They moved together, mouths, hands and bodies working tirelessly, until they both came, gasping and clutching at each other.

Paul shouted out, unable to restrain his voice. "YES! Fucking yes!"

He fell back to the pillow as George collapsed on top of him. Still panting, they relaxed together. Their eyes met before George settled his head on Paul's chest. Paul put his arms around him.

"That was amazing,” George said quietly.

Paul nodded, unable to say anything yet. Instead he tightened his grip around George's slight body and rested his chin on the top of his head. Oh, to be able to stay like this forever or, at least, a few more hours. He hadn't realised how tired he felt, or how glad was to have George back safe and sound after all the worry earlier. He opened his eyes to keep from falling asleep there and then.

Paul whispered back, "Don't go in the morning."

"I've got to. They know where I am now, so I can't exactly hide, and they'll probably be marching me to the station to make sure I get that train." There was a long pause before he said, hopefully, "Come with me."

"I can't come with you. I haven't got any money. And, anyway, the band..." Paul trailed off sadly. He really wished he could go and he hoped George realised that.

"The band, yeah." George said dejectedly. He yawned widely. Paul fought it hard but couldn't stop himself yawning too.

Though they were both very tired, sleep did not come as easily as they'd expected. After a while, George asked if there was anything to drink. Then he told Paul not to bother, it didn't really matter. Paul sat up slightly to reach the bottle of drink next to the bed and passed it straight to George. He peered into it and gave it back to Paul.

"It's empty," he explained.

Paul shrugged and set it down clumsily on the floor. It wobbled, fell over and rolled off under the bed. They were quiet again for a time until Paul started to laugh uncontrollably.

George asked, "What's so funny? I wasn't that bad, if your shouting is anything to go by."

"No, no, you weren't bad at all. It's just..." Paul snorted. "Nothing. I don't know what I'm laughing at."

"You're drunk." George said, bringing his face close to Paul's and sniffing theatrically. "I can smell it." He put on a high pitched hysterical voice. "You come home all hours stinking of gin!"

"Beer, actually," Paul corrected as matter-of-factly as he could with the slight slur in his voice. "Cheap German beer."

They stayed there, heads together, laughing. It was a while before they could speak again because one of them would start laughing again and that would set the other off.

"Paul? I really am dead thirsty."

"All right, but this is the last one. I think I'm this close to being broke after tonight." Paul held his fingers up to show how close he meant. George corrected him silently, pushing Paul's fingers quite a bit closer together. They shared a smile.

"How about we get water instead?" George suggested. "That's got to cost less."

After he'd finished cleaning himself up a bit, Paul went downstairs to fetch more drink. Water, he thought. George was right. They needed plenty of water after all they'd drunk tonight, and proper water too. Not that horrible yucky stuff out of the tap. He was already feeling the beginnings of a hangover and was sure George must be feeling just as bad.

At the bar, he narrowly escaped an awkward situation only to walk straight into another. A few seats down he thought he saw a blonde girl he recognised. She glanced up and winked at him with a knowing smile. Paul pretended not to notice, refusing to make eye contact with her. It seemed to work. His racing mind was doing the mental equivalent of breathing a sigh of relief, when she stood up and started towards him. Paul swore under his breath. The best thing he could think to do was turn away and head upstairs without acknowledging her or looking back. He just hoped she wouldn't follow him.

"Eh, watch it will you?" an annoyed voice snapped at him.

Paul had narrowly avoided dropping his large bottle of water as he crashed into their drummer. "Oops, sorry Pete.” Paul could feel himself swaying a little now Pete had knocked him off balance. Someone caught by the elbow to stop him falling over.

"How drunk are you exactly?" Stu asked him, letting go of his elbow. He had appeared, so it seemed, out of nowhere. John couldn't be far behind.

"I'm not drunk. I might be heading that way but I'm not quite there yet. To be honest, it I'm tired more'n anything."

“Well, you're not the only one. I’m going to bed,” Pete announced as he started to walk away.

“Don’t go up there!” Paul exclaimed, alert again suddenly. He couldn't let Pete walk in the room to find George. Even Pete could put two and two together if it was staring him blatantly in the face. Panicking, he put his water down, ran over and grabbed Pete’s arm hard to stop him moving.

Pete shook his arm free with a disgusted look but stayed where he was. “Why, what are you hiding?”

"I've got..." Paul thought quickly. "I've got a girl up there."

"Well hurry up, would you? I'd like to go to bed tonight." It seemed Pete was in a bad mood for some reason.

Paul decided it was best not to ask. That carried the risk of finding out and he honestly did not want to sit down here listen to Pete bemoan all his problems when he could be upstairs fucking George. If only he could arrange enough time. He went back towards the bar to fetch his drink.

"I'm going to track John down," Stu said to Pete, turning back the the door of the club. "He's been in a bit of a funny mood. I think it's to do with..." he stopped talking as Paul wandered back into sight.

Pete held out an arm to stop him going. "To do with what?"

"Nothing, it doesn't matter." Stu said, avoiding looking directly at Pete. He knew he shouldn't have said anything in the first place.

"What are you talking about now?" Paul asked, looking at them suspiciously.

Pete shrugged, completely dumbfounded. "I'd tell you if I knew. You people are getting more cryptic every day."

“Maybe if you spent more time with us you’d know what we meant. Look, Pete, I’m going upstairs and we really need to be alone. So, if you could wait a bit before you come up?”

"Ten minutes, Paul. Then I really am coming up."

“Twenty.”

“Fifteen.”

“Fine.” It wasn't fine, actually. That was nowhere near enough time but there was no point arguing or Pete would bring the time down again. Paul started off back in the direction of the stairs when he had the feeling he was being followed.

He span round. It was her, the blonde girl. Or, rather, what appeared to be a blonde girl on first sight. He tried to ignore her but she was obviously fighting her way through the crowd to join him.

“Hang on.” Pete said suddenly, looking like he’d just figured something out. With any luck, it wouldn't be the right thing. He followed Paul’s gaze. "Oh god, you're not getting involved with that one again, are you?"

Paul glanced again at 'that one' as Pete questioned him. He immediately cursed himself as she somehow managed to make eye contact with him.

"She wasn't that bad really.” Paul looked down at his feet, muttering. “Bit of fun, until I found out, you know."

“Fun?” Pete asked incredulously.

“You know what I mean.” Paul was feeling decidedly uncomfortable now. “Look-”

"You did realise what she was, didn’t you? Unless that’s the sort of thing you’re into…” Stu’s look changed from disbelief to disapproval. “But, I thought you were with Ge-” he coughed, “someone at the moment. Or is that just a bit of fun, too?”

"Paul, it's a bloke in a dress." Pete said bluntly, speaking as though he thought Paul was blind and clearly missing half the conversation.

Paul crossed his arms and huffed loudly. All right, to be honest, he hadn't realised it when he first met her. Or for three weeks after that until John gently, which in John terms meant loudly and with fiendish delight, pointed out that Paul had been getting friendly with a transvestite. Even then it had taken him a while to be convinced, thinking it was just John's usual teasing. It had only been when he was kissing her and he'd reached down just to check, like, that he finally believed. Needless to say, he'd made his excuses and made a run for it. A couple of weeks later they let the same thing happen to a friend of theirs from home. Even Paul thought it was a hoot, mostly because it wasn't happening to him this time.

Not long after that incident the whole George thing had kicked off. That had been keeping him busy enough not to have time to worry about whether he'd done the right thing where 'Sally' was concerned.

Paul dragged himself out of his musings with an angry start. He turned to glare at Stu, something he never liked to do even when they had their ‘disagreements’ about his bass playing. But these were special circumstances.

“Just leave it would you, the both of you. You're not John, so don't you tell me what to do. I don't have to listen to either of you if I don't want. And you!” He pointed violently at Stu. “You’ve got no idea! Just because you think you’re all existential and arty and like to pretend you know, or even care about, what I’m going through. Jand just because you’ve messed about with John a bit doesn’t mean you have the faintest clue what it’s like with me and George!”

Stu shook his head calmly, trying to be all superior and not resort to shouting. Paul wanted to throttle him when he got like that. “It’s John, isn’t it? Every time we argue about anything it always comes back to John.”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Paul spluttered.

“Christ, Paul! I’m not the one being ridiculous here. You have a hissy fit every time you find out that you’re only second best to some people…”

“You know, I don’t have to listen to this.” Paul stormed off upstairs, proving his point.

Not wanting Paul to get the last word, Stu shouted after him, "Drama queen!"

The only reply he got was a yell down the stairs telling to fuck off. Several people who had been watching the argument quickly returned to their own business. Most of the club hadn’t even noticed as they were busy observing or participating in countless other fights going on throughout the room. Apparently these ones were more interesting because the insults were all in German and there was greater probability of blood being spilt.

For a few seconds Stu and Pete stood in stunned silence. They'd rarely seen Paul explode like that and couldn't fathom it. It wasn't exactly flying off the handle by anyone else's standards, Pete had witnessed John do much worse in these last months, but it was certainly odd behaviour for the normally sunny Paul.

It was probably best to give him a couple of minutes to calm down. With any luck he'd already be in bed by the time Pete went upstairs. Stu, on the other hand, who wanted to get as far away from the whole mess as possible, left the club to find out where John had got to.


	10. Chapter 10

Paul was taking ages downstairs. Frankly, I was getting sick of waiting and I was even starting to nod off. I suppose I could be forgiven, taking everything into consideration. It had been one hell of a long day and whatever pills I'd taken to keep myself going must definitely be wearing off by now. Besides, the circumstances were clearly conspiring against me as I now found I had Paul's bed all to myself. It was a good deal more comfortable than what we'd been expected to kip on back at the Bambi Kino and I'm not just talking about my lumpy sofa either. The actual beds had been just as bad. They’d had suspiciously stained mattresses that were less comfortable than stone slabs and I should know, seeing as I'd spent most of the past month in Paul's bed and half of today in a cell where the only furnishings had, in fact, been stone slabs.

 

We'd all been relieved to escape the dank and dreary cinema and old club, along with its equally unpleasant owner. I was sure it was him who’d reported me for being underage. We’d all known Bruno Koschmider was a horrible man when we’d first met him and I was glad to get shot of him. However, with all the interruptions we were getting here, I sort of missed the mouldy, smelly, filthy and noisy cinema if only for the extra privacy we got in Paul's dungeon. Not that this mattered much anymore. I was leaving in a few hours, so there would be nothing to interrupt. I’d be hundreds of miles away from Bruno, which could only be a good thing. Then again I’d also be miles away from Paul.

 

I didn’t want to have to think about that. So I didn’t. Our arrangement there had been good even if our surroundings weren’t. One our nights off since Paul and I had started this thing, the late night showings had been useful for covering up the increasingly more adventurous snogging sessions. Well, at the time it had all seemed very daring. Now I thought about it, what we'd actually done seemed disappointingly innocent when I compared it to what we could have got up to and gotten away with. As it turned out we had both been too shy to make full use of the resources we had. After tonight I now felt I could be braver about certain things. I had wondered to myself, if I could have done my month with Paul over again, would I have been braver about bringing up the subject of sex? I'd like to think so.

 

I was aware of where this new tangent might take me and the probable consequences, so I gently guided my thoughts back in the direction of beds. After all, it was a highly relevant subject considering my location and it was, or at least should, be boring enough of a subject to put me to sleep. That was what I needed right now. In a few hours I'd be heading off to the train station for the first leg of my journey home. If I fell asleep on a German train I'd probably wake up to find I'd had my things nicked and missed my stop to boot.

 

So, beds. One thing I certainly didn't miss about our old place was the tatty union jacks we had to use for covers. Compared to that, this was luxury. Another good thing was that this bed wasn't quite so cramped without Paul in it, sticking his eyebrows into me. I shook my head. Eyebrows? Where had that come from? You know you've been up too long when you start mixing up the word elbows with eyebrows.

 

Where was I? Yeah. Half of me wanted desperately to go to sleep while the other half wanted to stay awake for Paul and whatever might happen next. I had a feeling the first option would win before long. I was just so worn out. Seriously, I could barely even keep my eyes...

 

"George?"

 

My heavy head jerked up automatically at the sound of Paul's voice. I blinked and gazed around the sleep blurred room, confused. It took me a few seconds shake myself awake and realise he was outside the door. Then I remembered I'd locked it and swore. Right now getting out of bed was the last thing I felt like doing, even for Paul. All the same, it had to be done, so I slipped off the bed, swaying dangerously as I staggered across the room.

 

I unlocked the door and stood back. Paul slid inside and shut it again quickly. My hair had been messed up by the pillow. Without my usual tonne of vaseline plaster it back, it naturally fell forward. Paul couldn't resist playing with it, of course. He tried to fiddle with it yet again but I dodged round him and locked the door again.

 

"I was knocking for a good five minutes. What were you up to, eh George?"

 

"Nothing," I said truthfully as I turned back to him and smiled sleepily. "I think I just didn't hear you or something."

 

Paul gave me a disbelieving look. He moved closer. Maybe he saw that my eyes were now especially bloodshot or perhaps I really did look as dead as I felt because it changed to a look of concern. "You were asleep, weren't you?"

 

"No. All right, maybe." I stretched, not bothering to hold back a yawn as I said, "What kept you anyway?"

 

"Stu and Pete decided to start having a go at me. Had a bit of a fight."

 

"I thought I could hear the faint strains of Hully Gully." I smirked. There was always a fight when that song came on. I might be shattered but I had not lost my sense of humour, yet. "Mind you, I bet you were having a go at them too." I stretched again, frowning this time as I felt pain shoot across my shoulder.

 

"What? No... Are you all right, George?"

 

He laid a hand on my shoulder I winces and knocked him back. Paul gave me the kicked puppy expression he'd spent the last few years perfecting as one of his many ploys to get girls. Can't have worked very well if he's had to resort to me, I thought.

 

Mind you the look was making me feel guilty. I decided it was best if I just explained. "Me neck 'n shoulders are 'urting me a bit. I think I think I mached shau a bit too enthusiastically tonight."

 

Paul laughed at that, hugging me carefully, probably to avoid another upset over the damn shoulder. I regretted mentioning it now. I'd much rather have had a proper hug. "I'm sure you wouldn't be complaining if I asked you to carry ours on for a bit longer."

 

"I might, you know." I admitted, rubbing my stinging eyes. "I'm dead sleepy now."

 

Paul gave me a sympathetic squeeze before he said, "It's not going to make much of a difference as Pete's coming up in a few minutes."

 

Eve though I was too far gone to do anything more, I was still annoyed that Pete was taking away more of our time together. My sluggish brain couldn’t think of a way to say this, so all I managed was a disappointed sounding, "Pity."

 

"He doesn't half pick his moments, does he?"

 

"Yeah."

 

I let my head fall to Paul's shoulder, relaxing into his arms. All I wanted now was to stay like that for as long as possible. After I didn't stir from my position for a while, he spoke again. "Georgie? You're not going to fall asleep like this, are you?"

 

I shook my heavy head and stood up straight with difficulty. Time to surrender to my sensible half. I slipped out of Paul’s arms and went back to the bed. This time I got as far as crawling under the covers. I was still tired but now Paul was back I didn't want to waste the time I had left with him, so I sat straight up again, before my head had the chance to touch the pillow.

 

I watched Paul moving about the room. He was busying himself, packing some of my stray possessions into my case. I still hadn't thanked him for going to fetch it. But there was "Paul?"

 

"Uh-huh?" He was ignoring me, carrying on the task with an agonising slowness. I knew he was only doing it to tease me.

 

I noticed a pounding in my head wondered if it was just the effects of the mach shau music on my overstretched nerves or if I was feeling the beginnings of a hangover. "I'm sorry I snapped before. Just ignore me if I do it again, you know I get irritable when I’m tired."

 

“Believe me, George, I’m used to it. I seem to remember you were worse than this when we used to go hitchhiking. Anyway, you’ve had a hard day.” Paul was in his element. He liked it when he could be all understanding and sympathetic. Not that he did it all the time, poor Stu seemed to be one of the exceptions to the rule. He said thoughtfully, "Best get to sleep before today catches up with us."

 

"Hmm." I agreed with him of course but I was still a little reluctant to. What if we weren't going to share a bed now we were in a room with the others? Even though most of them knew, and didn't seem to care, I'd still be embarrassed for them to walk in and find us cuddling. And there was one thing that I still wanted from him. I leaned forward and asked, "Do you still love me even if I'm irritable?"

 

Paul came back over to the bed, sat down and pressed his lips against my cheek lightly before he whispered his answer. "Yeah, 'course I do. I love you no matter what. In fact, I love you so much I'm going to forgive you for trying to trick me into saying that."

 

"No taking it back now." I smiled at him innocently, not an easy task with teeth like mine.

 

Paul brushed my flopping hair away from my face. "I don't want to take it back, Georgie."

 

“Good.” I grinned at him. “We're a right pair of romantic sods deep down, aren't we?”

 

Laughing, Paul threw his arms around me for another hug. His body shook against mine, while his laughter rang in my ear until my own mingled with it. The whole thing was funny enough but then he tried to kiss me to show just how romantic he could be. This didn't work too well as were both still in the middle of our latest giggle fit.

 

We barely heard the fresh knocking over our laughter. Paul turned his face to the door, no doubt with an annoyed or maybe even scandalised expression. I bet it was priceless either way. I wish I could've seen it.

"That's Pete." I said simply.

"I know."

"Better let him in."

"Yeah." Paul said quietly.

“Seriously, it is pity we didn't get chance to… you know.” I was annoyed that I still couldn’t say the bloody word to Paul. I know this probably wasn’t the best time to be suggesting it, with someone knocking insistently at be door, but that wasn’t the point.

 

"Don't remind me. It took me long enough to get the last one down." He said with a wink. Ah, of course. I should have known it would eventually get back to Paul’s overactive dick. Still, I suppose I did ask for it by what I’d implied, but he didn’t have to follow it up, especially with Pete on the other side of the door. Paul finally let go of me and stood up but, rather than going to the door, he stood there, looking at me thoughtfully. "Do us a favour and get some clothes on, love. You’ll catch your death and you know we won’t have time to thaw you out in the morning. Besides, you lying there shirtless and helpless isn't really helping me keep my cool."

 

"I didn't think it was," I said, smirking as I knelt up on the bed. I grabbed Paul round the neck and, knowing it would not help him ‘keep his cool’ at all, gave him the sexiest kiss I could muster. I thrust my tongue into his mouth, clutching his t-shirt tightly in my efforts to draw him still closer. Paul’s hands were warm on my freezing neck and back. Pete’s shouting from outside fell on deaf ears as the kiss raged on. When we broke apart we were both panting hard. We locked gazes and I felt a powerful sensation pass through as if we were carrying on the kiss with our eyes.

 

It dawned on me that Pete was still outside. “Let him in before he breaks the door down,” I whispered.

 

Paul turned slowly to the door. I pulled someone's t-shirt on while he was unlocking the door to let Pete into the room. "By the way, I'm not helpless," I added, chucking a pillow across the room at Paul. It hit Pete.

 

He looked a bit cross to say the least. Pete didn't actually say anything to us. I’d expected him to start demanding to know why we'd been locked in the room together, or asking why I looked embarrassed, or why we were both out of breath. I don’t think he even noticed I was in the wrong bed. He went about the ritual of going to bed without paying any attention to us.

 

I wondered what I should do. For the time being, maybe I should move over to the top bunk that I had been assigned by default after the others had all chosen theirs. I didn't want to spend the night alone but I thought I could probably sneak back in when the lights had been turned off and Pete was asleep. Well I couldn't exactly stay in bed with Paul while Pete was there, could I?

 

“You feeling better now, love?” Paul asked me sweetly, putting special emphasis on the word love.

 

It took a special effort not to roll my eyes. How many fucking times had I heard him use that one on a girl? It was possible he didn’t even realise he was doing it. Pete turned around, eyebrows knotted in confusion. Way to break it to him gently Paul, I thought sarcastically.

 

"What about…" I nodded in the direction of our drummer.

 

Paul glanced at him and shrugged. "Pete doesn't care, do you Pete?"

 

"Pete doesn't even know what the fuck's going on."

 

Pete did indeed look very confused now. "What don't I know? Paul, what are...?” He stopped talking when he saw Paul finally climb into the bed. With me. He stared at us for a few moments before he said, "I don't get what's going on here. Are you two...?”

 

"Don't ask," Paul said as he pulled the blanket over me and also curling his arm round me and pulling me closer in the same move. Clearly, he was an expert. "It'll take too long to explain."

 

There was a long pause, while Pete tried to take this in. Eventually he just shook his head and climbed into bed. We still didn't get to sleep then, because Paul suddenly looked at me, picked up the bottle of water he'd brought from downstairs, waved in my face and asked accusingly, "George, are you going to drink this water after I went to all that trouble fetching it for you?"


End file.
